


Expressions

by fallingrenegade



Series: Traditions [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: I'm starting to actually like writing this series, M/M, Valentine's Day, go figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingrenegade/pseuds/fallingrenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The twins spend their first Valentine’s Day together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An old furnace kicks on without warning, gradually warming the small bedroom. The small noise wakes the skittish genius, eyes darting open in case of attack. _Just the furnace_ , he assures himself, automatically rolling toward a familiar warmth with a groan. Tired eyes close slightly and look past his brother’s sleeping form. The alarm clock on the other side reads just past seven. Much too early to be up.

Stretching, Ford’s attention drifts back to Stan’s body which was only half covered by their blankets yet somehow radiated more heat than the furnace. Half the time Ford felt like a cat: attracted to the heat of the remarkably strapping body. Being held in those burly arms always allowed the broken man to sleep better than he had in years.

Watching the gentle rise and fall of Stan’s sizable stomach lulls Ford half to sleep once more. His lover is warm and peaceful and Ford doesn't want to give that up. Even in sleep, Stan looks happy: arm lolling over the bed’s side, the other thrown haphazardly near the headboard, resting against Ford’s fluffy hair. The man almost looks angelic in the morning light. Ford smirks at that thought, knowing it was _far_ from true. Especially after what they had done the previous night.

The blundering man had been trying to make due on his resolution to become a better brother to Stan. Apparently, he’s doing a bang up job. At least with the promise of oral sex, which both of them enjoyed considerably. Stan always seemed satisfied, anyway. Now that Ford thought about it, he was likely the reason why Stan was currently snoring loud enough to reawaken zombies, and just as dead to the world. That sure stroked his tarnished ego.

 _Hm. We could use some protein_ , Ford surmises offhandedly, plastered grin fading slightly.

Ford goes to get up but stops at the sight of something on Stan’s left arm above him. The twinkling had captured Ford’s sight before, yet he always loved seeing it. A smile comes to his face instantly. It's the golden watch he had given him for Christmas, still well-loved and clasped around his wrist. The band caught and pinched his curly grey hair far too often, which was likely painful, but Stan never seemed to take it off. It meant a lot that Stan enjoyed the gift. They had argued over what it meant, which had frazzled both of them to no end, so Ford's eternally grateful Stan eventually believed his honest words. It wasn't about the money spent, it was the genuine thought put into the gift. Ford's own handmade sweater was currently hung up to dry in their laundry room, also well-used already. Unlike most presents from people you see often, they didn't wear their gifts only to appease the other; they were genuinely pleased with their presented gifts.

Though not wanting to, Ford stretches his aging body and leaves the inviting covers and his lover behind. His hand reaches for a t-shirt folded on the bedside table. It was the second article of clothing Stan had given him since Christmas.

After being together romantically and sexually for almost two months, Ford had grown more accustomed to their less-shameful nudity. He had never been one to show off much skin, especially now with all his hideous scars, but Stan wouldn't keep his needy hands off him, so Ford was beginning to feel pleasantly more attractive as of late.

Standing up, Ford smiles back at Stan, slipping on the old t-shirt his lover had given him. It was sizes too large –from a time when Stan was much bigger than now– and he basically swam in it, but it covered down almost to his knees and the added size gave it an almost swoop neck look. It also left very little to the imagination, but he suspected Stan prefers it that way.

His brother had given it to him after Ford had stayed their first night together as the new year began. Being self-conscious even in his own house, Ford hadn’t wanted to leave the bedroom that morning without clothing. Since the articles were still in the living room, he had little choice. Instead of letting Ford pad naked back to his bedroom for his own enjoyment, Stan had picked through his closet until he found the old shirt. It wasn't anything fancy- just a simple, faded red t-shirt with a tiny circular logo on the left breast. Ford suspected it was some freebie Stan had acquired or bought cheap at a thrift shop or garage sale some years ago and not even _he_ knew what the tiny symbol meant. Not that Ford actually cared. He wasn't one for t-shirts himself but enjoyed the freedom it gave him: almost like a nightgown without the femininity society forced onto such an article. Though, if Ford was being totally honest, he wouldn't wear the old shirt if it hadn't been Stan's. It wasn't his particular choice of clothing style and it had a couple stains, but remembering that first time he wore it, how Stan's eyes lit up at seeing his lover in his own garment was more than worth it. He can still remember how Stan had told him it looked good, hands wandering under the old piece of clothing to destinations previously –yet newly– charted.

Ford smiles rosily while remembering the feel of hot yet already sated hands sliding over his scarred skin. Every time he wore it was like a part of Stan was surrounding him even while not within his grasp, and somehow that made the broken man feel safe. Neither of these things Ford would admit out loud quite yet. They had time. And an entire day to express their devotion with or without words, which was a godsend for Ford. Spoken words were not his forte. So instead, Ford wore the old shirt for Stan's enjoyment; to see the way his beautiful blue eyes grew softer at seeing Ford in his own attire. It was a little possessive of him, sure, but Ford reveled in that. They always had been that way with each other. As long as it was for the right reasons, Ford didn’t mind. He liked the shirt for the memories which seemed far more distant than they were. So much progress had been made over the past two months. Ford just hoped they could continue to build the relationship from sand and no harsh winds would blow all they had worked so hard on down into a barren, lonely desert.

Feeling suddenly nervous about his plans, Ford slips on his glasses from Stan's new bedside table, glad to see more than colorful blurs. Stan had ordered a queen sized bed after being certain their relationship wasn't some fluke accident both were too stubborn to abandon against all better judgement. They set it up in Stan’s room, clearing out the old dilapidated bed and sprucing the space up a bit. Stan teased him for moving into his room, destroying his bachelorhood, and taking over his house all in the same day but Ford had informed him yet again that it was actually _his_ house. They had frivolously bickered about that for a while until eventually Stan rolled his eyes and admitted that he liked the idea of not being alone at night anymore so he didn’t actually mind. The honesty had thrown Ford off, but thinking back he knew Stan had a sound point. After being alone for so long, having a bed partner was a godsend. He hadn’t slept this well in decades.

The half-naked man takes one final, nostalgic look at his peaceful bed partner before turning toward the door. He makes a quick pit stop to the bathroom first, relieving himself before efficiently scrubbing his body clean in the shower, throwing on the faded shirt once the morning ritual was complete.

Ford didn't even bother wearing underwear. As bare feet pad into the kitchen he figures they would be discarded soon enough anyway, knowing his brother. He himself was currently dead-set on the first surprise of the day for his new lover.

Valentine’s Day wasn’t a holiday Ford much understood but he had looked up how to be romantic on this new invention called “Google” and found some interesting websites. Then his computer started flashing advertisements wildly and went deathly black. If Fiddleford wasn’t currently holed up in the abandoned car lot Ford would ask him what was wrong with the newfangled device.

Ignoring the frustration with unnecessary gadgets, the genius gets to work, popping bread in the toaster while bacon fries and eggs start to whiten. It’s not until too late that he realizes his mistake. Though harboring a brilliant mind, Ford hadn’t realized food cooks at different intervals. Realizing he had messed up, Ford frowns at his work in progress, scrambling to make everything perfect.

When everything is done he’s left with a mess of semi-edible, possibly nutritious foodstuffs. Ford stares down at it in hopes it will magically become worthy.

No dice.

Maybe he should have ordered breakfast at McDonalds. It somehow would have been safer to consume.

Refusing to admit defeat, a determined Ford walks back into their shared bedroom, food spread on a simple eggshell-colored serving tray. There was a small pink carnation on the napkin beside the spoon and fork, and above the carefully folded napkin. Even though the breakfast looked quite horrible, at least the presentation was well thought-out.

The “food” is sat on a dresser as the man walks over to a small window, drawing the shades. Steady light pours through now that the blinds are no longer a hindrance to the needed lightness.

Bare feet tread to Stan’s side of the bed. For a moment he just smiles down, glad to see him look so at peace. Most mornings Ford would awaken first. He would simply watch Stan for a while with a growing, fond smile- his steady breathing telling his brother he was gladly still alive, the tender expression on his sleeping face looking adorable and very kissable. Usually Ford would press a gentle kiss to his cheek as not to wake him, knowing that his brother wouldn’t mind. Sometimes Stan would stir and make a face, but he never woke.

Doing so again for the umpteenth time, Ford smiles. So much had happened to him over the years but Stan still looked the same as he slept. When he had gotten back from between dimensions, Ford would watch Stan sleep sometimes, quiet as a mouse sneaking into his brother's room. His expression had always been one of gruff distaste and guardedness. Now he looked like his much younger self, salty-sweet and almost vibrant. Statistically, Ford wasn't entirely sure if it was his known presence causing this reaction or not. The data leaned that way but was inconclusive. Regardless of the possibilities, Ford was aware that, over logic, his heart knew the answer. That was enough for the scientist.

“Rise and shine,” Ford says through an open smile, feeling like a kid again.

His brother stirs, making a gruff groan of distaste at being woken. Unlike Ford he now resembled his age.

“You’d better have a good reason for wakin’ me up, Sixer.”

“I do. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

As Stan peers through half-lidded eyes, Ford presents him with a smile and the tray full of food. Briefly, Ford believes he would make an excellent waiter.

Blue eyes widen at the sight, genuinely surprised.

“Breakfast in bed?” asks Stan delicately as though the mirage might shatter, obviously not expecting such a romantic gesture.  

“Mhm hm. _Bon appétit_.”

Stan looks down at the so-called food. The bacon is denture-destroyingly crispy, scrambled eggs somehow charred, and the toast black, but Ford had tried his best. At least the orange juice was consumable.  

"Uh..." Stan starts uncertain, poking the charred, so-called breakfast before him with a fork and a look like it might emit toxins; "I think ya kinda killed breakfast, babe."

The honest words pop Ford’s bubble, deflating fast. But the usage of the new pet name lifts him high. Stan had been trying out new names for each other while Ford took no part in such a travesty. The new one of the week had been “babe”.

“Sorry. I’ve never been much of a cook, I’m afraid.” The smell of burnt oranges wafted through their nostrils, reminding him of this fact. However ashamed, Ford was impressed his cooking had somehow created a new, unique smell.

Meeting Ford’s eyes, Stan didn’t actually look disappointed. Ford lets in a glad breath, forever grateful that Stan was easy to please. His own pancakes came with a side of hair so Ford figured he shouldn’t have worried so.  

“It’s alright, Sixer. Still looks good; I’m starvin’. Thanks for the grub.”

A large hand pulls Ford down for a kiss, thick fingers carding through his dark grey hair. It’s a short but tender kiss; a thank you without words. When Stan lets go he pats the bed beside him.

“Ya gonna join me or just stare while I do all the eatin’?”

Nodding once, Ford returns to his side of the bed, easily crawling back on. He sits above the covers while Stan’s naked lower half stays mostly concealed.

Ford watches as Stan leans over, taking the dentures from his cup and popping them in. Strong arms pull his weight upwards with a gruff groan, back settling against the headboard. Ford’s eyebrows shoot up while the covers stay put but his brother does not, Stan accidentally flashing his naked lower half. Though he’s seen him naked more than he has anyone else, Ford quickly looks away.

Not caring that his genitalia is uncovered in all its glory, Stan holds the fork and hands Ford a spoon.

“Here. Eat some a this.”

Ford is entirely certain he doesn’t want to, but Stan insists and he has to do something besides stare at Stan’s naked southern regions and get ideas.

The toast isn’t actually that bad, and the bacon is somehow hard as cinderblock and chewier than gum all at the same time, but Ford gulps it down. At least it was energy. The orange juice is reserved for Stan, as well as the black eggs which he claimed were fine but Ford simply decided to take his word for it.

As he chews a particularly stubborn piece of bacon, Stan’s head turns toward him and doesn’t leave. After a while Ford feels the prickles of self-consciousness overtaking his ever-whirring mind. When he glances toward his brother he notices those eyes are not directed toward his own as expected, and a devilish grin has replaced his calm demeanor.

With curiosity, his gaze follows Stan’s which is currently settled somewhere near Ford’s knees. _What could he possibly be looking at?_ he wonders before noticing Stan’s object of fascination. Under the hem of the ridden-up t-shirt are his testicles peeking through for all to see. Without even thinking, Ford tugs the shirt down, quickly covering his naked lower half once more with a wigged out expression. After sitting down Ford hadn’t even bothered wondering if he was still fully covered.

Stan takes a bite of crispy bacon, eyes rolling.  

"I was enjoyin' the view, Stanford," admits Stan through a crunchy mouthful, annoyed that the impromptu peep show was now over.

Ford gulps, hands leaving the shirt. It rides up a bit again but not enough to show off his no-longer-private parts. A hand wanders south, right toward the dangerous destination- Stan attempting to cop a feel. But Ford’s fast reflexes quickly halt it. Stan looks at the hand holding his and suppresses a smile, hungry for much more than breakfast. Ford let's go in hopes he'll attempt to behave. At least until after the dishes in the other room are salvageable. Sex still made him a bit nervous and jumping right into it set his anxiety on high alert. Especially on a day like today- reserved for lovers. This was all still so new and vulnerable to them; delicate yet growing stronger. And knowing how fragile it all was mortified the genius, fear and doubt stifling his libido.   

He watches a happy Stan squeeze his hand instead, letting his true side show for a moment beyond all the lustful teasing. Only Stan had ever acted as though his hands were normal. To see him be so nonchalant about touching one of his abnormalities was a godsend. Knowing that Stan was perfectly fine with him was better than all the sex, all the tender touches and soft-spoken confessions in the world. If you stripped away all romantic layers of their relationship they were still just them- as they always had been, as they always would be. And Stan was just Stan; the one who accepted all his faults and shortcomings no matter how large or bizarre. Ford wasn't always as good about forgiveness or expressing himself without offending people, especially his easily-hurt twin, but Ford knew all would always be forgiven. And seeing Stan squeeze his hand, no matter how small a gesture, was grander than the multiverse itself.

The calming hand gives him one final squeeze before turning back to breakfast without a word. Nibbling on his breakfast, Ford says nothing more as he eats. He still felt a trifle exposed until he glances over. Remembering Stan is completely naked under the barely-covering bedsheets and food tray makes him feel a bit better. Besides, Stan hadn’t even bothered covering himself back up. If Ford wanted to he could appreciate the view from his own post, but doing so while not aroused always made Ford feel filthy, and not in a fun way, so he stops himself.

Knowing it was for the best, Ford halts his pesky mind from wandering any further, realizing he should do the dishes before the bacon grease and burnt oddities stuck forever to the pans and utensils, rendering them useless. Normally he wouldn't mind too much, but he wasn't sure he was up for a morning romp just yet and wanted the needed, boring distraction of unwanted housework. Besides, he didn't need to waste funds frivolously on supplies he already owned. It wasn't like they used them much to make it worth his while anyway.

When the determined Ford goes to get up, Stan places a hand on his knee.

“Hey, before ya leave I gotcha somethin’.”

Stopping with curiosity, he turns toward Stan who leans over the edge of the bed, naked ass greeting Ford like an invitation. Gulping the thought away, Ford focuses on Stan’s northern actions instead.

A simple pink and red stripped bag is pulled out from under the bed. Ford’s eyes narrow. He hadn’t even known it was down there.

“Here. It’s nothin’ much but… Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The red tissue paper crinkles as Ford’s hand pulls it away, revealing two gifts. The first is a box of marshmallow Peeps shaped like pink hearts. Ford had never seen that kind before. The next is another, smaller box. Ford recognizes it instantly. It’s filled with little candy Valentine hearts. On the back it reads: “To: Sweetcheeks, From: Love Monkey” in Stan’s sloppy handwriting. Ford smiles at the box even though they've never used those names for each other before. Stan was overdoing it with the pet names but it was starting to grow on him. Thinking them over, he sort of liked them. Love monkey especially.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Ford admits.

“Eh,” he says with a wave of a hand. “I wanted to.”

Stan leans toward him in askance but Ford doesn’t notice. Instead, he stands, informing Stan he would be right back before shuffling off toward his room.

When he returns moments later he hands Stan a heart-shaped box of chocolates, leaving his other gift for later usage. Stan looks at the tempting sweets, mouth almost watering. Ford knows he’s been eating healthier as of late. Or at least trying to.

"I'll never lose weight if we keep havin’ holidays," the disgruntled man grumbles.

Any other time Ford would chide him for giving into temptation but the gift of chocolate was his own fault. Honestly, Ford loved the way Stan looked. Just like their personalities, their body types complimented each other. That was the beauty of having a twin: you were born with your exact equal and perfect opposite. If he lost weight, that was fine with Ford. It would make him healthier if he did lose a few pounds, but only in the proper way. If Stan wanted help he could always ask Ford for nutritional advice. But Ford suspected he was attempting to lose some of his chubbiness to become more attractive for his lover. Eventually he would have to reassure him that he was not going to find him unattractive any time soon, and if he was there were _many_ other plausible reasons that had nothing to do with weight. Ford suspected Stan felt the same about his abundant scars but he was still insecure about them as well. They were both fighting their own losing battles, together yet alone. Though he couldn’t fix the imperfections littering his mangled body, Ford couldn’t help but be proud and honored all the same that Stan could and was trying for his sake.

"At least you've been getting your exercise," Ford offers weakly with a sad smile, attempting to make Stan feel better. Making him continue to feel bad for eating junk food during the successive holidays would solve nothing.

Stan looks at him confused for a minute, pondering over his words. When he realizes what activities his brother is referring to, Stan chuckles. His arm comes around Ford's shoulder, pulling him in tight.

"Heh. Hey, you're right. We'll burn it off."

After taking a long swig of orange juice and pulling his arm away, Stan turns back toward Ford.

"Thanks for the chocolates," a happy voice says.

He hands Ford his Peeps and he actually gets the hint, unwrapping them and biting off half a heart, effectively breaking it in two.

"Thank you too."

As Ford chews the sweet marshmallow, Stan opens his chocolate box. The first one bitten into he makes a face at like it’s filled with shrapnel. For a second Ford is worried Stan finds them disgusting like his cooking but he takes the half-eaten morsel, handing it to Ford.

“Coconut,” he explains simply with a face of detest.

Instead of taking the chocolate from his hand, Ford gets a tempting idea. He leans forward to take the morsel into his mouth instead, lips sliding over the two fingers as he sucks the chocolate in, instantly gaining Stan’s undivided attention. Daring to look, Ford glances toward his lover. He’s rewarded with a hungry look that has nothing to do with food, mouth opening and damn near watering.

Feeling suddenly bashful of his actions, Ford looks away, carefully chewing on the delicious candy. That’s when he notices the Peep still in his folded hand. It looks like one half of a whole heart, making butterflies flutter through his chest at the thought. Without a word, Ford hands the half to Stan as a silent offering. For a second he simply looks at the offered marshmallow. When their eyes meet, Stan grins cheekily back.

“Are you givin’ me your heart, Stanford?” teases Stan with wiggling eyebrows, playfully elbowing him.

“Shut up,” mumbles Ford, arms crossing before his chest, embarrassed by his own actions.

Instead of teasing him further, Stan surprises him by kissing his stubbled cheek.

“Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Stan whispers in his ear, husky enough to make Ford gulp. “It was actually kinda cute. You’re allowed to be cheesy if ya wanna be.”

Ford didn’t actually want to be but he was still glad Stan didn’t think he was being a hopeless romantic. If they were still kids Stan would have been slapping his own leg in laughter right now. Instead, when Ford looked over he just smiled sweetly, open and delighted. It was glorious to see Stan’s pages revealed, finally becoming an open book again. He couldn’t wait to write their shared history in the back.

Morning light casts a small shadow against his face, highlighting the other half of his sharp features. Ford can’t help but lean toward him, capturing Stan’s warm lips in his own. Their breakfast tasted much better in his mouth.

When they pull away there’s a tingling on his lips that Ford wishes to ignore. Stan lets out a happy sigh, heightening the sensation tenfold. Uncomfortable with the thought of telling Stan what such little actions do to him, and afraid if he stays much longer he’ll do so, Ford decides to stand.

Arms ascend above the dark grey hair as he stretches lazily, t-shirt riding up and exposing a wide expanse of skin. A warm hand settles on his ass cheek, playfully squeezing. Ignoring the spark of pleasure pooling on the other side of Stan’s hand, Ford walks away. He pads into the kitchen, tray in hand after quickly grabbing it without dangerously looking at Stan’s naked form or his loving expression. If he had they wouldn’t have left the bedroom for at least half an hour and the dishes needed to be washed otherwise he feared they would start growing charred mutants from remains of the caked-on grime and burnt food. In Gravity Falls, Ford would expect no less.

As Ford runs the almost scalding water for the dishes to soak in there’s a sound of running water else ware in the house. Apparently Stan was taking a bath himself. Ford supposes he’s grateful their water heater was decent otherwise he’d be taking a cold shower. Though, knowing how easily aroused his brother was, that might not be such a bad idea.

Ford starts scrubbing at the unruly frying pan, caked white and black eggs looking almost unearthly. Perhaps his time off-planet wasn’t good for the immediate environment, Ford wonders.

The brilliant mind wanders aimlessly as he finishes most of the dishes, settling on a few experiments he was currently working on while mindlessly scrubbing. They’re not done well but the dishes look loads better than the ungodly mess they had been.

Fleetingly, Ford hears the shower turn off and wonders what’s on their agenda for the rest of the day now that Stan’s clean and possibly dressed.

He only has a few dishes left when he sees Stan stroll in after his shower clad only in his untied red robe, leaving absolutely nothing left to the imagination. Shyly, Ford looks away, though he’s not sure why. He’s seen and felt him naked many times by now. Still, he couldn’t get over his lifetime of awkwardness in such a short amount of time.

Large, hairy arms slide around his body without warning, pressing close behind. Playful hands splay over the smaller chest as Stan hums in his ear. A ticklish kiss is placed on his neck, making Ford lean into his brother’s protective embrace. Ford hums back in response, soap bubbles and lukewarm water dripping down his forearms as all movements pause. Stan’s own hands roam over Ford's body as he's practically naked behind him, soft protruding stomach pressing against his lower back, mouth kissing at his neck, hands wandering up and under the shirt. Fingers play teasingly with his nipples first, making them hard before sliding over the flat stomach, down to slender hips. Ford had had an inkling that he needn’t bother getting dressed that morning since Stan would likely just rip all clothing off anyway. Now he was one-hundred percent positive.

Being half naked left Ford feeling exposed but with Stan touching him it also added a giddy excitement. He was starting to get used to the loving attention of Stan's hands and mouth over the weeks and found he's grown quite fond of it. Ford had never had this sort of intimacy with anyone else before. It wasn't just sex, and though that was a very nice perk, he found he rather enjoyed the small touches and fond closeness. They had found a comradery again, and though it was far from conventional, Ford found himself slipping under the warm surface, not minding being gently dragged below hot springs.

Ford smiles at the hot, soapy water, knowing it matched his growing appreciation for the newfound relationship they had forged together. It had taken a lot of hammering, heat, and frustration but they had created something special that was worth the sacrifice in the end, and then some. Together they were letting all unspoken desires be filled and had created something beautiful and unique together. To Ford, that means a lot. And he suspects Stan feels the same.

Ford lets out a shaky yet pleased breath, glad to be alone in their well-heated home with his newfound lover. Behind him, hips press close, naked and hairy thighs molding against his, fully flush with his own nakedness. That’s when a flaccid cock lines up with the crack of his ass. Eyes widen as teeth clench, well aware of the silent promise. Ford clutches the plate, almost snapping it in two. Thank god it was plastic.

Stan chuckles at the reaction as a lone hand slides from the respectable position on his hip bone, suddenly cupping and kneading Ford’s balls. The dish he almost snapped in half splashes into the water as Ford’s hands lose their grip, mouth open in shock. Soapy water splashes over his naked arms as all concentration goes to the sensation against his privates, cock starting to swell as Stan palms it. What that hand could do to him so easily was not fair.

“When you're done,” Stan coos deeply in his ear, breath making the fine hairs on Ford’s neck stand on end; “meet me in the bedroom."

Even Ford knew what that would entail. The thought of what was to come made him dizzy with anticipation. If only those damn dishes were done.

For a moment Stan just stands there, lazily playing with Ford’s testicles that he had found so fascinating earlier. If it didn’t feel so damn good he would have chided Stan for distracting him enough that he almost started clumsily breaking their dishes.

When Stan backs away, severing all contact, Ford has to physically stop himself from turning around and making him stay.

He moves a few feet to the right, opening the refrigerator and standing there for a moment, looking for something. Out of his peripheral, Ford watches him grab a few things and stick them inside his robe, sadly hidden from sight, then saunters toward their shared bedroom, resembling a child stealing cookies from a jar.

Mind incessantly chattering about what Stan could have possibly taken, Ford finishes the dishes quickly, not even caring if they were to shatter all over the kitchen floor. Though he doesn’t like wasting money, he feels whatever’s awaiting him is worth buying new.

Taking a steadying breath since he’s not sure what to expect, Ford opens their bedroom door and chances a step inside. Blue eyes widen as he takes in the surroundings. There were flower petals littering the covers, but even more enticing was what else was occupying the bed.

Lying there, naked and unashamed as the day they were born, was Stan, whipped cream and chocolate sauce in either hand.

Pleased at Ford’s surprised reaction, Stan smirks at his increasingly aroused brother who had practically stumbled into their room.  

"Want a little dessert?" Stan asks seductively once all eyes are on him, eyebrows wiggling as he squirts some foamy whiteness on the tip of his cock.

Ford gulps down at the whipped-cream-covered, half-erect penis that was all for him. There certainly wasn't anything “little” about it.

"Uh…” he says much too high, pleased with where Stan’s mind had gone but too surprised and instantly hard to speak properly just yet.

Mischievous baby blues flash at him across the room. Ford gulps. There's no clothing to hide his reaction to the sight. The self-conscious man pulls the shirt down at the front, hiding his growing member, Stan's hungry eyes watching the movement with a knowing smirk growing on his lips.

Mouth opening, Stan sprays the white stuff onto his tongue, swallowing with a moan. Ford gulps at the suggestiveness, barely-concealed erection growing harder. Some whipped cream stays on the corner of his lips, looking like he’d been given a lewd facial. The naughty imagery was giving Ford wonderfully incestuous ideas. More than anything, Ford wants to lick it away.

Feet automatically go toward the bed then stop, momentarily frozen. Stan watches the hesitation, becoming increasingly nervous. Strong fists grip the whipped cream can as his face attempts nonchalantness. Not even Ford buys it.

"Stanford?” asks Stan, voice wavering. “Something wrong?"

Ford hated not knowing what to say when Stan misread signals. All he could do was throw some words out and hope they stuck like magnetic letters on a fridge and somehow formed a proper sentence.

"Just- Wait here a moment. I- I'll be right back,” he barely hears himself stutter.

Before Ford can clarify any further he rushes off toward his room in search of one of his other hidden Valentine's gifts.

When he gets back, Stan hasn’t moved from his spot, though he looks quite lost without him. Sighing, Ford lets out all used air from his lungs and sips in another needed breath.

"I, um..." Ford clears his throat, feeling vulnerable. "I have a surprise for you too."

Six-fingered hands nervously pull up the baggy shirt, exposing his lower half. This time he isn’t naked. Underneath the shirt were edible underwear, surrounding his crotch with tiny circular candies. He hopes they’ll satisfy Stan’s incessant sweet tooth for a while. They were like the candy string necklaces they used to get as kids yet much more inappropriate.

Stan’s expression lights up, allowing Ford to let out a painfully held breath. He’s more than glad to see Stan's eager face at the new choice in underwear.

"They're edible," Ford explains, just in case he’s never seen them before either. It took him a good half an hour in the sex store before he had decided on them.

Blatantly staring at Ford’s crotch, Stan's mouth basically waters.

"Jesus Christ,” Stan rasps under his breath, aroused gaze scouring his brother’s erotic form. Then those beautiful eyes get low. "Mmm. Ya look good enough ta eat, Sixer. C'mere," he beckons, patting the bed beside him with a happy smile that brightens the dark room like a sun.

The compliment makes Ford both hard and happily embarrassed. Whenever Stan complimented him he still felt like an excitable teenager. He didn’t have to ask Ford twice.

The smiling man rushes toward the bed, shirt thrown off quickly. His eager body settles between Stan’s legs with ease as his twin watches with growing excitement.

“My turn first,” Ford almost orders, compliment currently bursting his ego through the seams.

Before Stan can hardly blink, Ford’s licking the excess whipped cream still beside his lips. The stubble is rough against his sensitive tongue but the way Stan’s breath hitches makes it totally worth it.

His eager head moves quickly south, throwing Stan off guard. The pink muscle juts out, licking at the tip of Stan’s cock, tongue doing what it had longed to since he’d seen what Stan had done. His brother hisses at the sudden contact, apparently not expecting Ford to be so forthright. Any other day he wouldn’t have been. But seeing Stan covered in whipped cream was _much_ too tempting. The bitter taste of precome mixed with the saltiness of skin and sweetness of whipped cream created a wonderful cacophony of complementary sensations against Ford’s taste buds.

“Mmm, you taste good,” compliments Ford, tongue licking over the head.

Moaning low, Stan’s cock grows at the attention it’s given, swelling against Ford’s mouth as he sucks the tip clean.

“This feels a helluva lot better than I imagined,” Stan admits through labored breaths.

Ford silently agrees as Stan gets ready to spray more whipped cream on his penis. It’s not until then that he suddenly remembers something he had read.

"Wait!" Ford cries, hand coming up to stop him.

Stan stops shaking the can, halting all actions as he looks distressed at Ford’s sudden outburst.

"Whipped cream can cause urinary tract infections. We shouldn't use it on our genitals. It’s not safe."

Words sinking in, Stan simply blinks.

"…Seriously?" he asks, beyond annoyed.

“Why would I say so otherwise?” Ford practically growls, just as disappointed.

His brother physically deflates, head bonking against the headboard.

"Oh, come on! That was half my plan."

Contemplating the decision, Ford recalls what all the online article had said before his computer had crashed.

"Hm. I suppose if we urinate afterward we _should_ be able to expel any harmful bacteria.”

Stan takes a relieved breath, expression growing relaxed.

“Good. I can live with that.”

Now having a plan of action, Stan sprays more whipped cream on the head for Ford to lap up. He does so slowly, trying to make Stan squirm under his delightful tongue. There’s a pleased noise echoing through the small room as the wet muscle slides over the tip, sparks of pleasure shooting through both of them until the white cream is all gone.

Now sadly bare, Ford grabs the chocolate sauce and whipped cream from Stan, taking matters into his own hands: spraying some foamy cream over his hard nipples, drizzling chocolate sauce over the hairy chest and down his treasure trail. The chocolate sauce gets caught in his abundant hair and makes a right mess but Ford laps at it regardless, gladly not getting a mouthful of chest hair. The sweetness of chocolate paired with the salty taste of skin gave the syrup an almost sea salt caramel flavor. Though not much of a chocolate connoisseur, Ford had to admit it tasted truly delicious on Stan’s body. Though his feelings might not be chalked up purely on taste alone.

Gripping the bed sheets, Stan moans while breathily watching his brother’s tongue slide all over his naked body. Feeling eyes on his actions gives Ford an extra jolt of arousal. The eager tongue licks up all that he can while Stan watches, wordless but not at all silent.

Once the chocolate is mostly gone, Ford’s attention heads back to the cream-covered nipples. He licks one hard nub off then moves to the other, deciding to suck it into his mouth. Stan’s hips jut up on their own accord, erection slapping against Ford’s stomach and making his heart race.

Nipples now bare, Ford’s mouth moves downward, can squirting more of the white goodness over Stan’s cock with a foamy hiss, hand holding the base as he licks it all off. He hears Stan’s breath hitch. Without being able to hold back, Ford smiles. His semi-serious resolution was making him quite a pro at giving oral sex and he was quite proud of that.

“Okay, okay; that’s enough,” Stan starts, gently pushing at Ford’s shoulders, not wanting to ruin their fun prematurely. “My turn.”

They switch positions, Ford sitting against the headboard while Stan kneels between his legs. With growing arousal Ford watches Stan eye his crotch, glimmers of mischief twinkling in those beautiful blue eyes.

“I’ve never seen these before,” Stan admits of his edible panties.

“Nor had I,” admits Ford, glancing down at them. The lady at the sex shop told him his boyfriend would love them so he trusted the professional’s judgement.

“I think I like ‘em,” Stan says, giving his brother a heartfelt smile.

With a gulp, Ford watches with growing interest as Stan’s head goes down. A curious pink tongue juts out, running over the rounded, pastel rainbow candies. On the other side of Stan’s tongue the candies roll over his length, sending a new sensation through his cock. His eyes bulge, cataloguing every new sensitive thrill. Seeing Stan’s mouth so close to his genitals was wonderful but knowing he had to work at getting to Ford’s cock created waves of glorious anticipation.

When Stan bites into the candy that’s when Ford’s eyes bulge, realizing he didn’t quite think this through. Stan must use his teeth to get to the good stuff and frankly that’s mortifying.

Stan sucks the little candies into his mouth carefully and bites down, snapping them in half and accidentally reassuring his brother as he chews. It’s then that Ford knows he must trust Stan a whole lot more than imagined because he lets him use his own judgement so close to such a sensitive area. Gladly, Stan doesn’t make any mistakes and bite anything he shouldn’t so Ford sighs with relief.  

Smiling down at his brother who seems to love his wrapped package pleases Ford to no end. The candies snap under his teeth, tongue purposely licking inside to swipe against Ford’s length. Hands splay over his thighs as his mouth sucks and bites the edible underwear, every so often licking at Ford’s growing erection, causing lovely tremors throughout his whole body. Eating away at the panties seems to take forever but they both love it. They have nothing but time.

When the crotch of the underwear is completely eaten, Stan looks blissfully up at his lover. Ford stares back at the rare unguarded expression with a warm feeling of arousal behind his own eyes.

Without looking down, Stan slides the half-eaten underwear off, causing an odd sensation as the candied string slides down Ford’s outer thighs. Stan watches the reaction, fond smile growing sultry.

“Turn around- On your hands and knees,” Stan basically orders, however gently.

Gulping, Ford does as he’s asked, wondering what plan Stan had in mind this time. Part of him wants to look behind himself to see what Stan is up to but curiosity doesn’t get the best of him. He wants to be surprised.

"Ya had a shower today, right?" asks Stan.

Contemplating why he would ask that, Ford responds.

"Yes. Why do you-"

Ford's eyes bulge as he feels a small nozzle against his ass, whipped cream squirting between his cheeks with a muffled hiss. Large hands spread the cheeks wide, Stan giving himself better access.

There’s a wet sensation as a tongue laps at the whipped cream, sparking a pleasure that Ford has never fathomed. Panting, with pupils wide, Ford grips the bedsheets, precome starting to leak from his cock, eyelids clenching closed. No one has ever done this to him before. It's all so new and exciting. Ford adores it. He’s about to tell Stan so but a new sensation stops all thought. That’s when the strong, slick tongue glides into his ass. His cock pulses as his abdomen tightens, arousal heightening around the wet muscle.

“ _Fuck_ ,” pants Ford, fingers gripping the sheets almost painfully. He knew Stan loved it when he swore but this time it was entirely accidental.

The tongue pulls out, teasingly lapping at the hole. When the wet muscle leaves completely, Ford actually feels angry before hearing a bottle cap snap open. This time he turns around.

In Stan’s hand is a bottle of strawberry-flavored lube. His eyes widen in wonder. He looks to Stan who watches back, giving him a sly smile.

“You like my tongue in your ass, eh?” he half asks, half states, squirting some lube onto his finger and sliding it over Ford’s hole. Their eyes bore into each other, everything around them not mattering. Ford’s breathe hitches, teeth gritting as they watch the other becoming increasingly aroused.

“Yes,” Ford pants simply.

“Yeah, me too,” admits a pleased Stan, mouth returning to Ford’s ass. His tongue slides over his hole again, licking up the residual whipped cream and strawberry lube, teasing him relentlessly.

It’s too much. Ford needs more.

“Uhhn. Just fuck me already,” growls Ford, forehead lolling against the headboard. He hears Stan chuckle behind him.

“Anything you say, _babe_ ,” teases Stan in an almost mocking tone. He can practically hear Stan’s eyes rolling. Ford knows it’s just to annoy him but he feels there’s still some truth behind those words.

The bottle top snaps off again, filling Ford with anticipation. He hears the tiny bottle close, fueling his want, impatiently waiting for what was to come.

A large finger slides into his already slicked hole, bottoming out fairly quickly. Stan makes a stunned noise behind him, finger sliding back out with ease. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Ford had informed him he was more than ready.

He feels the tip of Stan’s full cock press against his ready entrance, slicked generously with the strawberry lube. Large hands come to his hips, pulling Ford back onto his length, making him impale himself. Ford allows himself to be manhandled, moaning as he’s finally filled up with the large cock. It felt wonderful. He’d been waiting for this all morning.

Six-fingered hands grip the headboard to steady himself, making the metal squawk in protest.

Balls deep, Stan moves his hands up Ford’s back, sliding under his arms and gripping his shoulders from underneath. His entire body leans over him, enveloping him like a warm blanket, flush with Ford’s back. Their weight is supported entirely by Ford’s hands gripping the headboard. Thank god he’d gotten stronger from his time in the multiverse.

A wonderful friction of skin against skin makes Ford sigh happily as Stan starts to thrust slowly, rocking both their bodies back and forth on the bed. The feeling of Stan's weight against him as his whole body makes love to him was amazing. Ford wishes this could last forever but they were already both so far gone. It was a damn shame.

A gentle mouth presses wet kisses to Ford’s neck. Teeth scrape against the sensitive skin as Stan’s stomach slides over his back, cock buried deep inside him, fucking him thoroughly.

Ford mewls, hands gripping tighter. The headboard squeaks louder as Stan’s thrust become harder, balls slapping against Ford’s ass in the otherwise quiet room.

The eager mouth moves from his neck to an ear, false teeth nibbling on the lobe. Ford sucks in a breath, letting out a shaky moan as his arousal heightens. He knows Stan is getting close; his breath becomes shallow and needy, thrusts becoming fast and strong.

“Mmm. You feel good,” admits Stan in a purr, deep voice velvet in his ear.

Ford feels his balls draw up at the compliment, every sensation an intense spark of pleasure.

“I’m- I’m close,” Ford pants in warning, attempting to push back the inevitable and failing.

Hearing his brother so aroused starts forcing Stan over the edge. He breathes hard in Ford’s ear, hitching as his thrusts become erratic. God, how they wanted this to last. But they had waited too long and the pressure was too strong.

“I am too,” admits Stan through gritted teeth, grip tightening.

The headboard screeches with their movements, bed howling in protest as Stan fucks Ford deep and strong, both bodies straining to hold back.

But it was no use.

“You- you feel so good, Stan,” Ford pants, barely able to hold on. He was so close. _Just a little more._

“Oh, God, Stanford,” Stan chokes, voice unfocused at the compliment, fingers gripping Ford’s shoulders as he comes hard, semen shooting deep inside him.

Ford’s breath becomes shallow, so close to orgasming he can almost taste it. Stan keeps fucking him as Ford grits his teeth, eyes clenched tight. _So close, so close_ , he repeats to himself, straining to make it last though also not wanting it to.

A large hand suddenly wraps around his cock, still slick with lube. A high gasp escapes from between Ford’s lips, Stan’s wonderfully large hand pumping his aching cock. Feeling Stan inside him and all around his body makes sirens howl through Ford’s entire being. Every muscle in his body tightens and ripples with pleasure as the orgasm overtakes him, Stan’s eager and strong hand beyond amazing. Choking on air, Ford watches through half-lidded eyes as his semen shoots in stripes over the bedsheets, ass pulsating with each crashing wave of pleasure around Stan’s large cock as that delightfully large hand give him _exactly_ what he needs.

“Uhhhn,” Ford moans, half-choked as the whitecaps of ecstasy crash over him.

When the high slowly falls they’re left a panting, sweaty mess- Stan’s heavy frame lying atop a still Ford whose slick hands lazily grasp the headboard. Ford is left wonderfully sated and dead to the world; mind going pleasantly blank and lips grinning against the sheets. He hadn’t had an orgasm that powerful in years.

“Mmm. God, Stan, you’re good at that,” Ford barely breathes once Stan rolls off him, not-so-carefully plopping himself against the headboard. With a groan, Stan positions himself on his back beside him, humming an answer before words would work properly, sweat-glistened stomach rising and falling rapidly.

“So are you,” Stan rasps, toes and fingers purposely curling and stretching with aftershocks bothering his aching muscles.

Ford simply watches his lover, affection blooming and spreading through his chest without noise in his mind distracting him. Making love to Stan always did that to him and he cherished it.

After a little while, Ford can collect his thoughts properly even though he’s not sure he wants to. Wandering eyes cautiously survey the bed, wondering what kind of mess they left. Their bedsheets have seen better days but it was completely worth it.

He goes back to watching Stan who’s still panting at the exertion. Ford’s eyes wander to his flaccid cock, still wet from their activities. Being infinitely curious, he leans down while Stan is still distracted with attempting to steady his breath. A curious pink tongue slides over Stan’s cock, licking it clean, tasting the faint strawberry flavor and his come. Stan “hmph’s” at the unexpected sensation, throwing an arm over his already closed eyes.

“Please don’t tell me you’re tyin’ ta get me hard again, Ford. Cuz it’s not gonna happen.”

The inquisitive man stops his actions, looking up a little bashful.

“No, I was just curious what it tasted like.”

“My dick?”

Ford rolls his eyes.

“The lubricant, knucklehead.”

“Oh,” Stan says absently, arm leaving his eyes. They open to meet Ford’s, the blue irises practically swimming with contentedness. Seeing him so spent because of him gave Ford a thrill that had nothing to do with sex.

He leans toward his lover who watches the oncoming lips with a growing smile. When the mouth presses against Stan’s his eyes slide closed, their lips moving over each other’s, wet and slow.  

When they break apart, Ford feels beyond sleepy. They could go back to bed easily but that would be a waste of a perfectly fine day and Ford had much to do. Instead, Ford stifles a yawn while attempting to mentally wake himself up.

“Well, I’m all sugared out,” says Stan, breaking the silence.

Ford had to agree. Though Stan tasted loads better than their breakfast, all the sugar wasn’t good for them.

With a sigh Stan looks down at his stomach, happy aura replaced with a frown.

“Ugh. Great. Now I hafta take another shower," grunts Stan, looking unhappily at the sticky mess he started and Ford created. Some chocolate sauce had gotten on their sheets as well but neither cared nor noticed in the heat of the moment.  

Stan looks over at Ford, cogs turning.

“Wanna take a shower together?” suggest a sultry Stan, voice dripping with sex even though they had just gotten off together.

Gulping, Ford tries to peel his eyes away from Stan’s but just can’t.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Come on. Don’t be a prude. It’ll save time,” Stan brings up, voice tittering. He was aware Ford was always one for efficiency.

“Hmph. Fine, I’ll shower with you. But don’t be disappointed when I can’t get an erection, alright?”

Stan simply rolls his eyes, pulling the insecure Ford in for a sideways hug.

“Ya really think that _I_ can? I’m glad ya have faith in me, Ford, but, yeesh; don’t give me _that_ much credit. We’re not teenagers.”

Ford waves him off, crawling over Stan to get off the bed. That was a bad idea. Before he can get off, Stan stops him, hands gripping his hips and pulling him down over his flaccid cock. Frowning at his frustratingly sexual brother, Ford growls. 

“Really, Stanley?”

He had criticized him about possibly trying to make him hard and now _this_? _What a hypocrite._

“Hey, I can’t help it I can’t keep my hands off ya.” Stan winks, hands running up Ford’s sides, creating sparks like nerve endings over his sensitive skin. Ignoring the feeling they create, the frustrated man lets out a sigh, fingernails scratching his head through thick hair. How could he stay annoyed with Stan when he said things like that?”

“Let’s just take a shower, shall we?” suggests the gruff voice, sounding much like his younger twin.

Winning, Stan lets go of Ford with a devilish smirk, allowing his lover to climb off the wrecked mess of a bed before joining him. This time, as they walk toward the bathroom together, Ford doesn’t even realize he’s naked.

When they reach the bathroom, Stan takes it upon himself to turn on the shower. Ford simply watches from a short distance, standing awkwardly while watching his naked brother. Outside of the bedroom he looked like a right mess. Stan’s hair was disheveled, which Ford adored. But otherwise he was still covered in liquid chocolate, looking like he got into a bloody fistfight with a Hershey bar.

Ford moves to the mirror above the sink, checking himself out. The older twin frowns at his reflection. Sadly, he didn’t look much better.

Suddenly Stan’s laughing behind him, forcing Ford to turn around with a growing frown.

“Ya got chocolate all over your back,” Stan chuckles out as explanation, hand slapping his own thigh in amusement.

Ford turns around, ignoring his frankly annoying twin, checking over his back in the mirror. Stan was right. There was smeared chocolate sauce all over him. Thinking it over, Ford can’t comprehend why he would be covered in the mess. Stan never drizzled any chocolate on him.

Grey eyebrows shoot up as it dawns on him. The chocolate must have transferred to him from Stan’s stomach while they had sex. The thought makes Ford wish he could actually get hard again, though it almost makes him frown harder. Ford didn’t like getting messy.

Still, he turns back around, wishing they were much younger. There were ways that Ford _did_ enjoy getting dirty and all involved Stan.  

Now that he’s bored with making fun of his brother, Stan turns back toward the shower, fiddling with the nobs. Once the water is up to Stan’s standards he steps into the tub, motioning for Ford to do the same. After a beat he does as instructed, carefully climbing in after his twin.

Hot, muscle-relaxing water runs down his head and shoulders, surrounding him in a loving embrace. Tired eyes slide shut, basking in the heat which warms his body and soul.

“Mmm,” he moans to no one and nothing in particular.

Gentle hands touch his skin, surprising the serene man. His eyes open to see Stan whose matching ones watch back, hands moving on their own accord. The blue eyes dance before him, causing fluttering wings to escape rampantly throughout Ford’s breast. Rough skin washes him without soap, cleansing his battered body. It was glorious, allowing Stan’s hands to wander. Without the possibility of sex this was purely loving exploration. Ford lets Stan care for him, touching every part of his body, taking in every beauty, every imperfection under his palm and fingertips. The rough glide of skin against skin was somehow soothing. If they weren’t standing Ford might just fall asleep.

Once Stan seems satisfied he stands with arms down, silently awaiting Ford to do the same.

A six-fingered hand reaches out, slowly growing accustomed to the new sensations of water-slicked skin against his palm. They’ve never done this before. Ford had a feeling today would continue to be one of new experiences and silent expressions of how they feel. That was beyond fine with him.

The hand slides over Stan’s rough skin with growing confidence, down large arms and across a wide back, eventually settling on his small ass. The position causes a jolt somewhere in Ford’s lower regions but he ignores it. It doesn’t matter right now.  

He lets the hand trail up Stan’s side, over his nipple and down his stomach. Some of the chocolate had washed off already but a little persistent sauce remained. Ford’s hand starts scrubbing over the hair. When he starts, Stan takes in a slow, sleepy breath that Ford can feel under his hand. It makes him smile seeing Stan look so content.

His other joins its match, gliding over Stan’s stomach that he adored so much.

“You know I don’t mind that you’re a little overweight, don’t you?” Ford admits, knowing this was the right time to tell his self-conscious brother exactly how he felt about his body.

Stan goes silent; very unlike him. Hesitantly, Ford looks up, not knowing what he’ll find. His brother gulps, eyes going soft.

“You sure?”

Ford nods, hands rubbing over his stomach in slow circles.

“Mhm hm. I’m positive.”

The honesty makes Stan shyly smile. Ford adored those moments.

“If you want to lose weight to get healthier then I fully support that, but don’t do it for me.”

“Who says I do it for you?” Stan says. But his voice is much too soft, giving him away.

Ford can’t help but step into him, lining their bodies up. His hands pull Stan into him, mouths joining together, feeling almost as though they’re merging as arms embrace his beautifully large body. Somehow, Ford feels more connected than they did during sex.

Instead of words, Ford expresses himself through slow, lazy kisses. Stan responds in kind, hands settling over his shoulder blades. It felt wonderful allowing themselves to simply revel in each other’s loving presence.

Taking a deep breath, Ford disconnects their lips, bodies still flush. Standing there, hot water running over their aging bodies, Ford feels complete. They were both broken but together they were whole.

Stan’s beautiful, kind eyes look back at him, more exposed than Ford can ever remember. His mouth opens to say something until his eyebrows furrow, mouth closing with a snap.

“Were you going to say something?” asks Ford, curious yet beyond happy.

“Nope,” he answers much too quickly, guardedness coming back though gladly not completely.

Figuring it was the best route, Ford drops the subject. If Stan wanted to tell him something he would eventually. Stan always spoke his mind whenever he wanted. Apparently he didn’t feel inclined just yet.  Prying it out of him would do more harm than good.

The water on Ford’s back started becoming cool, water heater apparently starting to protest.

“We should get out of here,” Ford says simply.

Stan agrees with a nod, reaching around Ford and shutting the water off.

The men climb out of the shower, drying off in silence. There was a peaceful calm in the air regardless. Ford thought the best word to describe it was tranquility, though no words were needed. None were quite accurate anyway.

He watches Stan put his watch back on and dry off with his pink towel, Ford lazily doing the same with a matching blue.

Once his body was mostly dry and unruly hair wasn’t dripping water all over his shoulders, Ford wraps the blue towel around his waist. Stan watches him with mild interest, eyeing the towel. Ford figures Stan is getting ideas but they couldn’t just lazy around having sex all day. It wouldn’t be very productive. Plus they might die from overexertion and that would take the fun out of it. They weren’t young men anymore.

“Well, I’d better be off. I’ve got work to do. Is that… Is that alright with you?” asks Ford.

Silently, Ford hopes Stan doesn’t want to spend the entire day together. As much as he would love that they did have to have their own lives and it was already well into the afternoon. No couple could be together excessively and they were no exception. Besides, they would still be in the same house if either needed the other. They just needed their own space. At least until dinner, since Ford doubted either would be all that hungry after all the sweets they had consumed, on and off each other’s bodies.

“I got stuff ta do too so it’s fine,” he assures with a shrug.

Stan leans in, giving Ford a quick kiss before flashing him a smile served with a playful wink. Distracted, Ford imagines that Stan would make a good waiter as well.

“If ya get bored with your science-y crap just come find me, okay?”

Though Ford doubts he’ll ever grow tired of science, he agrees.

“And if you get bored with whatever the hell it is you do, I’ll be in the basement,” Ford offers though he doubts Stan has any interest in organic chemistry. Still, Ford loved talking his ear off regardless. Sometimes he wondered what his brother got up to when not doing tours; other times he figured it was for the better if he wasn't aware. Best not to be an accomplice. Someone had to take care of the shack.

“Pft. Yeah, right. Like I wanna help you with your nerd experiments. See ya later, sweetcheeks,” Stan says with laughter in his voice, slapping Ford’s ass before sauntering away.

If Ford wasn’t growing accustomed to Stan’s name of the week he would roll his eyes. _Oh, what the hell._ Ford decides to anyway, even if his brother can’t see him. Regardless, Ford can’t help but smile after him.

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun without me, ‘ _love monkey_ ’.”

The name feels weird on his tongue yet Stan turns around and grins, beyond pleased, making the awkwardness more than worth it. Hands go under his arms, fingers wiggling while pretending to be a primate with a characteristic monkey chatter of Ooh’s and Ah’s. As usual he didn’t care how ridiculous he looked while trying to get a laugh. It reminded Ford of a much younger Stan, making him chuckle fondly at the precious memories of innocent childhood. Oh, how innocent they weren’t now.

Ford amusedly watches the half-naked Stan chuckle, apparently finding himself hilarious while turning the corner and walking from sight with a “See ya later,” thrown over his shoulder.  

After a quiet moment, Ford follows, going the opposite direction. He starts to whistle an old tune while he walks, thinking about how glorious their morning had been. Some days were special enough to light your heart afire without even trying.

His lips upturn as the feeling of peace overtakes him, feet padding toward his barely used bedroom. The blissful smile refuses to leave as his mind thinks about Stan. Ford was a lucky man. They had had such a pleasant morning. And the day wasn’t even half over.


	2. Chapter 2

After the shower’s euphoria has long since passed, and the constant thrum of possible arousal sated, Ford felt incomplete. The problem with afternoon sex was always the long period of shame after. It was unnecessary, of course. They had nothing to be ashamed of. They were consenting adults and that’s all that should matter. It was perfectly normal to feel guilt after sex. Yet Ford couldn’t stop feeling dirty, and no longer in a good way.

Once they had dried off and went their separate ways Ford started feeling oddly clingy. A part of him was suddenly missing. He hadn’t been that way with Stan in years. It was new and daunting compared to their innocent childhood days. Now they shared much more than blood: they shared a bed, they shared bodies, they shared a life. Their relationship was strong again but that didn’t mean constant doubts weren’t bombarding him full force. All the sugar didn’t help, of course, but it was like a drug- once you started it was hard to stop.

Around two that afternoon Ford starts getting a bit peckish. He decides to continue with the sugarfest they had inadvertently started that morning and, instead of fixing a healthy snack, the genius decides to grab a box of candy hearts. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , Ford figures. Though he wasn’t a big fan of the chalky little candies he had to admit they were cute enough and fit the occasion nicely. Plus, the thought of Stan picking them out especially for him made Ford smile.  

As he wandered back downstairs he opens the box, popping one into his hand while waiting for the elevator door. Casually, he glances at the small white letters, reading them for the hell of it. When he does his heart lodges spikes through his parched throat, shard and choking. The little characters stared back while he stood dumbly outside the elevator doors, not noticing they had opened. The “I love you” taunts him.

The man gulps, quickly popping the morsel into his mouth and snapping the heart into powdery pieces. Though he tries telling himself there’s no significance to the completely random candy inscription he can’t help but feel disappointed. They hadn’t brought up the topic of love since New Year’s. Even vaguely thinking about the mortifying four-lettered word caused panic inside. Many people thought Ford was oblivious to emotions, and though that was usually true with others, he wasn’t to his own. Even though he hadn’t uttered the word out loud yet, there was no doubt in his mind that he loves Stan. And that scares the hell out of him.   

Watching his lover always gave him that telling tug of heartstrings, informing him that he was long gone from sanity and rational thinking. Ford always gulped it down but it kept coming back, stronger and more menacing each time.

It had been happening more and more lately. He would find himself drifting off while working, wondering how Stan was doing and if he was safe and happy. Even when they were kids Ford never felt all that concerned for his twin’s well-being. Stan was the strong one. He always found a way to prevail.

Somehow something had changed and for the life of him he couldn't shake the tackling fear that Stan could be hurt or in trouble when not by his side.

Of course that idea was often preposterous. Sometimes he would hear him cussing upstairs after stubbing his toe, or yelling at the TV, and Ford would realize he was overreacting. Still, the feeling couldn’t be shaken. No matter how much Ford wished it could. Falling in love was one thing. It was scary and enchanting and amazing. But _being_ in love was constant worry, fearing they’d find someone else; someone better.

Or they'd just leave one day without a word and never return.

He had already lost Stan twice. He refused to lose him again.

Still, Ford couldn't find a healthy way to live with that overwhelming fear. He just couldn’t shake it.

Yet every time he went upstairs and saw Stan his over-imaginative mind would hush. That made all the worries worth it. Love was both the best and worst feeling in the world, and the soaring highs were worth all the crashing lows in the multiverse.

Now, several inefficient hours later, Ford was sitting at his desk, attempting to figure out where he had gone wrong with his latest gizmo and getting nowhere fast. His concentration had been far away from his scientific projects all day. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered when distractions were around every corner. The genius had never had this problem before. His work had always been everything for him; his top priority. Sharing time between work and family was becoming frustrating. Especially when his brain wanted to revolve around some _one_ instead of some _thing_.

He was about to just throw the damn experiment at a basement wall and be done with it when he got pulled from his own dangerous mind.

“Stanford!” Stan yells from upstairs, dragging Ford back down to Earth.

“Yes?!” Ford instantly answers back to the elevator wall, wondering if Stan can even hear him.

There’s no response, so he’s fairly certain responding did no good. Feeling stupid, Ford sighs, hand rubbing his aching forehead. Great, now he was literally talking to a wall. He would have to go upstairs to see what his brother wanted. It was probably for the best. Sitting in the dark by himself, stuck in the repeat of his own thoughts, was doing no one any good. Especially not himself.

“Ford?!” repeats Stan, apparently thinking his brother hadn’t heard him.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming,” Ford says loudly, though he’s sure just to himself.

When Ford arrives on the first floor he pauses for a moment, not sure where to go. There weren’t many lights on in the house. Where could he be?

“Stan?” he calls, looking around for his brother. He’s nowhere in sight.

“In here,” Stan calls from somewhere.

Where ‘here’ is, Ford doesn’t know.

Apparently Stan must realize his brother was oblivious most of the time because he responds before the so-called genius can ask.

“In the kitchen.”

Ah. Much better.

When Ford walks in his entire being freezes. The table is set with simple red plates and silver forks atop a plain white tablecloth. It has an old stain over the draping side but Ford doesn’t mind. He barely even registers it’s there as his eyebrows arch in surprise. It’s more than he would have done.

Two tall, red candles sit in the middle of the simple setting, creating a warm ambiance in the otherwise unlit room. Beside the plates are two tall glasses and a chilled bottle of champagne. Yet again Stan has gone all out. Ford was starting to feel grossly inefficient with his gift of chocolate and himself in candy panties.

“Whaddaya think?” asks Stan, standing to the side with hands clasped before him, watching his brother’s every move with a fine-toothed comb. For some reason he looks nervous. He’s sporting his usual suit except his pants are a bit baggier and he wears a white tie with dotted little pink hearts. Frankly, he looks adorable.

“I think you’re much more of a romantic than I give you credit for,” says Ford in awe, expression turning infinitely fond. The whole day had been a whirlwind. It was more than he ever could have dreamed.

Stan waves the compliment away though he looks pleased, instead moving to one of the chairs. He pulls it out as Ford watches the movement, standing completely still, hands clasped behind his back. After a while Stan rolls his eyes, laughing mockingly at the oblivious twin.

“I’m holdin’ it out for ya, Poindexter.”

Words sinking in, Ford simply blinks.

“Oh.” He surely wasn’t expecting chivalry. Not from Stan of all people. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Stan says, waiting.

His husky appearance was even more striking in the low, flickering candlelight. As usual, Ford felt magnetically pulled toward the protective man.

Ford strides over, standing beside the chair. Two fingers reach out, sliding over the silky tie, tickling the sensitive pads. There’s a tightness in his lungs as Stan watches his movement, increasingly hungry expression egging Ford on. Grabbing the tie, Ford pulls him in for a quick kiss. His lover makes a happy hum, vibrating against his lips. When Ford pulls back he takes the procured seat, Stan pushing the chair in as he sits.

“You hungry?” asks Stan simply, coming back into his peripheral vision.

Now that Ford thought about it his stomach _did_ feel rather empty.

“Yes, actually. Did you make something?”

In answer, Stan produces a short box Ford hadn’t noticed from the kitchen counter, setting it unceremoniously onto the table. Raising an eyebrow, Ford peeps curiously inside.

Pizza. Stan had ordered pizza.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

Honestly, Ford was relieved. Pizza wasn’t a grand gesture. It was simple and not nearly as daunting as the two melting candles before them.

“Nah, I didn't have time after I got the champagne,” Stan explains. “But I’m not much of a cook anyway.”

 “Nor am I, as you know.” Ford smiles at the pie, grabbing a greasy slice. “It smells good. Thank you for dinner.”

It’s not until after he’s taken a first gooey bite that he realizes the proper thing to do would’ve been to let Stan choose first. As usual he put himself first without a second thought. Ford inwardly chides himself. He never has claimed to be much of a gentleman.

Wiping some marinara off his lip, Ford looks sheepishly toward Stan.

“Sorry. I should have let you get first pick.”

Chewing his own first bite, Stan casually shrugs. Apparently he doesn’t expect anything different from his brother.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says through a mouthful. “You always were a dick. I’m used to it.”

Deflating, Ford frowns. Did Stan really think he was a selfish bastard? It could be true, sure, but Ford honestly did try his best. He just often acted without thinking. It was one rare trait they shared.

“I was teasing, Stanford,” Stan says with a playful look. “Besides, you’re _my_ dick.”

For some reason Ford doesn’t quite believe him. And he doesn’t have a clue how to respond to the former sentence.

Instead of getting into a possible tiff, Ford takes another bite, chewing on his words. Stan had done something nice and romantic for them. The least he could do was bite his tongue. At least for tonight. Tomorrow might be a different story.

After a few more silent bites, Stan makes an agitated noise. With trepidation, Ford glances up, hoping he hasn’t set his brother off just by breathing. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Shit. I forgot to pour us a drink. You want some bubbly?”

Ford eyes the chilling bottle of champagne. It was probably cheap but Ford figures that’s what went well with pizza anyway.

“Oh, what the hell. Sure.”

Grunting slightly, Stan cracks open the bottle. The hissing pop of the cap sounds wonderful in Ford’s ears. The surprisingly gracious host pours Ford’s first.

This time he waits for Stan to have the first taste. The consideration makes Stan smile. It becomes contagious quickly.

When Ford takes his first sip he mewls in acceptance. Who knew pizza and champagne would be a lovely combination? He swishes it around, liking the alcoholic sting paired with the cheesy flavor. It was oddly delicious. Or maybe Ford was just famished. Either way, he was pleased.

“How’s the grub?” asks Stan after a while, taking a sip of bubbly.

“Even better with the present company,” admits Ford automatically.

His brother’s eyes narrow with disbelief.  

“Really?”

Now Ford’s eyes narrow as well but for a much different reason.

“Of course. Why would I lie? I’m lucky to have you, Stanley.”

The honest words make Stan’s hand fall to the table, pizza slice in hand, flopping against the tablecloth and spreading grease over the white linen. His watch clangs once against the plate, creating a sharp, unsettling ting. The harshness against the quiet atmosphere makes Ford wince.

“Seriously?”

Ford arches an eyebrow, staring at his slumped brother sitting across the table. How could he not know?  

“Yes. Why are you surprised?”

Ford can’t understand how Stan would be shocked by this fact. Ford thought it was painstakingly obvious. It wasn’t like he tried to hide his feelings. Stan was a morally devious yet incredibly loving man. Snatching him up was the best thing Ford had ever done.

For a long time Stan doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even move. As time slowly drags on Ford starts worrying that he’s had a stroke.

“Uh… Stan?”

“I’m lucky to have you too,” admits Stan gruffly, obviously not wanting to confess such a thing. Hearing the truthful words makes Ford’s entire being radiate blissful tranquility.

He doesn’t say anything more. Neither of them have to. They eat the rest of the pizza in silence, smiling around each bite as they gaze across at each other. The candles burn low before them. Receiving Stan’s unwavering concentration is enough. It’s almost too much. His gaze never falters; twinkling cerulean eyes flickering with candlelight. It was one of life’s rare perfect moments. Those had been happening a lot lately.

He lays a hand on the table, silently asking for Stan to do the same. Without a word Stan knows just what he wants. His free hand settles into Ford’s, squeezing once for good measure. Happiness swirls around Ford like a warm summer breeze. Memories of that day surround him in a warm, ethereal glow while he watches Stan smile, recalling what a day they had shared. It all seemed so surreal. And now Stan’s thumb strokes small, gentle circles with his thumb over Ford’s abnormal hand. Tingling thrills shoot through the skin as he watches the loving movement. Even after all they had done, handholding was still something Ford adored. Not many people wanted to touch a freak.

Looking back up, heat surges through his body. How could Ford not love the man? Stan looks so dashing with his heart tie and childlike blissful expression. With or without clothes, Stan was beautiful.  

Ford’s mind clears as it always does around his lover. Staring at the content face before him, Stan becomes everything. His presence transcends all thought processes. Watching him gaze back with those cerulean eyes Ford wishes they hadn’t already come once today. With their age it was next to impossible to sustain an erection twice in one day. But seeing Stan’s handsome etched features in the orange glow, Ford desperately wants to try.

Stan breaks Ford from his revere by clearing his throat and pulling back the wanted hand. With a heavy heart and sad expression, Ford watches it go.

“So, how was your day?” asks Stan, apparently not knowing what else to say.

“It was fine. Pretty uneventful, actually. How about yours?”

Happiness fading fast, Stan huffs.

“Eh,” he says nursing his glass of champagne. “About the same. Almost got arrested.”

Ford’s eyes bug. He _really_ wants to know Stan’s definition of ‘uneventful’.

“ _Again_?”

That was the second time just that month. His brother had a problem.

“Yeah, nothin’ important. The cops didn’t even show up. I was tryin’ to shoplift us some expensive champagne but the little twerp caught me. They said I had a choice between jail and an apology, so I had ta write a stupid apology letter. Blech. I shoulda picked jail.”

Ford honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. On one hand it was a sweet gesture yet on the other his brother was possibly insane.

Instead of acting like any normal human being, Stan just takes another hefty bite of pizza, unfazed. Ford watches back as though Stan’s marbles have scattered over the kitchen linoleum. He loves his rebellious side but this was ridiculous.

“If you needed money I could have given you some, Stanley. It’s really no problem.”

“Nah. I wanted it to be a surprise. Besides, I don’t need your money. I got plenty of my own.”

Ford feels a sigh coming on. And probably a headache.

“Then why didn’t you just pay for the damn champagne yourself?”

The candlelight casts shadows over the growing devilish smirk Stan presents him, giving Ford invigorating goosebumps.

“Cuz I like the thrill of gettin’ caught, Sixer,” he says with a suggestive wink.

Gulping, Ford knows that’s a dangerous topic to jump into. He ignores the knowing smirk Stan gives while he pays unnecessarily close attention to his own second slice of pizza.  

After a while Stan leans back in his chair, patting his round stomach.

“Ahh. That hit the spot. You want some dessert?”

Just the thought of more sugar made his stomach churn in disgrace.

“Ugh. No more sweets for me. And you should lie off as well.”

His brother stands with an eye roll, going for the fridge.

“Relax,” he says, setting down a small plate filled with oysters. “Just a little somethin’ to get us in the mood again.”

Gulping at the delicacies and Stan’s telling words, Ford starts to speak before thinking.

"Actually, studies show that oysters and other foods that are so-called aphrodisiacs don't have any known impact on the libido."

As he sits, Stan waves a condescending hand.  

"Psht. Whadda they know? Scientists are always changin’ their minds about that sorta thing. All I know is they always worked for me."

Pushing down the white-hot jealousy poking holes through his heart, Ford gulps. Thinking over the facts in greater detail instead helps ebb the prodding feeling.  

“Well, they do contain zinc,” Ford brainstorms aloud; “and they also produce nitric oxide which helps increase endurance and a healthier blood flow, so that _should_ help with erections and vitality, I suppose.”

Stan pauses, oyster by his lips.

“So, they _do_ help,” he says condescendingly, chiding the genius with an are-you-kidding-me expression.

“ _Yes_ ,” Ford growls; “but eating well in general helps promote good sexual health.”

After a beat, Stan rolls his eyes, arm dropping to the table.

“Ugh. Who knew you could even make _sex_ sound boring, Poindexter?”

Ford frowns across the table, tempted to kick Stan’s shin. Or possibly a little higher to get his point across. Somehow he miraculously refrains.

“Just eat your damn oysters,” he mumbles into his plate.

“Yeah, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Chuckling, Stan pokes his brother with a fork from across the table. Maybe Ford should have went for a crotch shot after all.

With a condescending frown, Ford sucks down his own oyster, mildly curious as to what Stan meant.

“Why’s that?” he asks after swallowing.   

Stan suppresses a smile.

“You’ll see.”

Ford gulps. That was almost never a good sign.

"Tell me, Stanley."

Stan sighs, casually folding his arms.

"Come on, Sixer. You like surprises."

"As long as they're good ones."

Stan chews on his lip, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. He rubs his neck- the telltale sign that he’s uncomfortable.

"Heh. Well, it should be, if all goes according to plan. I actually put a lota thought into it and I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope you do.”

Now Ford was _really_ curious. But Stan was tightlipped when he wanted to be. Since it would likely be a waste of time, Ford doesn’t bother probing for more information.

Yet his mind keeps racing. At Ford eats he contemplates. What could the surprise be? First the sticky morning romp, then the candlelit dinner. What did Stan have in store for them next?

Finishing the oysters, Stan sighs happily.

“Those were good.”

Ford has to agree. Oysters were one of his favorite delicacies. Most people found them disgusting but the anomalous man always was one for the unique.

He watches as Stan grabs the bottle of champagne, shaking it slightly in askance.

“Ya want any more of this?”

Ford shakes his head, hand gesturing a stop sign.

“Just one glass for me, thanks.”

If he was being honest, Ford hopes it will stay that way for both of them. They didn’t have to be drunk to enjoy each other’s company. Though he didn’t think Stan was one to drink his pain away, they had been broken apart for half their lives. People can change a whole lot in that amount of time. And he would hate to see Stan throw all they had away just for a temporary escape. Ford had seen it before. It was painful helplessly watching someone hate themselves so much they didn’t want to be present for their own life. He wasn’t about to see it again.

“Okay. Suit yourself.”

When Stan goes to pour himself a second glass of champagne, Ford stops his hand. Before looking to Ford he gives the gripping hand a questioning look. After years of living with a man who liked his alcohol more than his family, Ford wasn't about to live with another. Not that he was all that worried, but Stan was a troubled man, and that's all it takes.

"Trust me, Ford; I need it," explains Stan in a huff.

The insistence in his voice instantly pisses Ford off. Boiling blood rushes through his veins; memories of their abusive father taking center state.

"No, you _don't_ ," urges Ford in a growl, much too strongly than intended. But his point has to come across. Drinking was fine in moderation. Claiming it was needed set off red flags.

For a moment his brother stares, surprised by the outburst. After a breath, Stan sighs, setting the glass on the table before rubbing his temples.

"For what I'm about to do, yeah, I do,” Stan explains toward the tablecloth before meeting Ford’s eyes, expression soft and understanding. “But if it'll make ya feel better, I won't."

Though glad his twin could read his mind, Ford eyes him curiously. _What could that possibly mean?_

“What you’re about to do?” Ford asks aloud, hoping Stan will eventually spill the beans.

Ignoring the question, Stan simply sips his already empty champagne glass, not fooling anyone. Ford gives him a look while Stan pretends drinking air is doing nothing out of the ordinary.

“Stanley?”

“Don’t worry about it.”  

His evading brother stands, stretching. The aging body pops as he does. Stan makes a disgruntled face down at the cards he was dealt, likely cursing his own body. Without looking Ford’s way he turns from the table. His whole body radiates an emotion but Ford can’t tell which it is. It was a bad time to be socially inept. Gladly Stan speaks before leaving, putting him slightly at ease.

“Meet me in the living room in five minutes then you’ll get your answer. No sooner, alright? And no peeking.”

Before Ford can do much besides narrow his brow in thought, Stan is gone. _Well, that was unexpected_ , One minute they’re having a nice, romantic, candle-lit dinner and the next his lover is in the other room doing god knows what. Ford can’t comprehend why he was in such a hurry to leave. The candles were still burning and the food was sitting out. What could get Stan that distracted? Ford thinks absently while rubbing his chin with a thumb, looking in the direction that Stan left. Did he offend him in some way? Ford hadn’t meant to. But it wouldn’t be the first time.

Sighing, Ford puts the leftovers in the fridge to burn through time and blows out the candles, smoke billowing unseen in the blackened room. Everything felt cold now. Though Stan is still in the house, Ford feels lost without him. The scientist insists it’s just nerves from whatever Stan has in store. The problem is, he doesn’t believe himself.

+++++++

Once five minutes are up, Ford stands. His own body doesn’t like him much better. The little pops and aches aren’t as apparent as Stan’s yet he could still do without them. Aging was a bitch.

The man walks delicately toward the living room, stopping outside the darkened kitchen.

“Are you ready for me?” asks Ford.

Deafening silence answers back. Curiosity dying to be quenched, Ford goes to ask again when he hears something. Cocking his head, Ford listens. It sounds like furniture moving. A lone eyebrow rises as Ford contemplates what’s happening inside.

“Yeah, come in,” answers Stan breathily after a moment.

Ford would be lying if he claimed the husky tone didn’t cause an invigorating thrill.

When Ford walks into the living room sadly not much is different. The couch and coffee table are pushed to the back of the room and the TV to the front while Stan’s old chair takes center stage.

His curious gaze wanders about the room, settling on Stan who’s still fully dressed by the stereo. _Thank god_. Ford was worried Stan would want to fool around again and he hated to disappoint. They hadn’t needed help in that department yet, but they might tonight.

“Sit down and get comfortable,” Stan informs, watching his brother intently. Set blue eyes seem to look right through Ford. It was rather unnerving being the center of attention. That was always Stan’s thing, not Ford’s.

The man gulps before doing so, settling into Stan’s old, oversized chair. It was surprisingly comfy. Once his position is deemed satisfactory he looks up at Stan in wonder. He’s holding something small in one hand, still watching him. Ford’s starting to feel self-conscious from all the attention.

“Alright,” Stan says. “Take off your shirt.”

Ford blinks. _Well, that was rather forward_.

"Why?" Ford asks, sounding like a petulant child.

Stan sighs, body almost vibrating with energy. Ford wants to know what the hell has him so keyed up.

"Cuz I got a surprise for ya, Sixer. Just do it already before I change my mind."

Curiosity gets the best of him. An adamant Ford slips off his sweater, feeling unnecessarily exposed. He gives Stan a look, impatiently waiting.

"Undershirt too.”

With increasingly nervous hands, Ford slips that off as well. Now he’s half exposed and fully self-conscious. Usually Stan was the first to get naked, not him. The change in attire makes Ford uneasy.

"Why did I have to take off my clothes?"

Stan smiles cheekily but even Ford can tell he’s nervous.

"I wanted to enjoy the view while I do this."

Eyebrow furrowing, Ford licks dry lips.

"Do what?"

Without answer, Stan goes to stand a few feet before him. Ford watches with increasing curiosity, shifting in the chair. His brother takes in a deep breath, arm lifting the small remote toward the stereo.

“You ready?” asks Stan.

“How am I supposed to be ready when I don’t even know what you’re about to do?”

Stan sighs shakily.

“Just… just promise you won’t laugh, okay?”

The fear of ridicule in his eyes slices Ford’s booming heart. How could Stan think so little of him? Here was a man who had lived his life with constant ridicule. In everyone’s eyes Ford was a freak. Everyone except Stan. He wasn’t about to hurt his lover’s feelings, especially with his own horribly scarred body before him.

“I promise.”

The honesty makes Stan relax a bit. He takes another deep breath before clicking play, setting the remote on the TV. A driving song starts that Ford doesn’t recognize as Stan hangs his head, taking a deep breath. At first Ford isn’t sure what’s about to happen. Then suddenly Stan lifts his head, looking straight at him, eyes on fire.   

“ _I love myself, I want you to love me._ _When I feel down, I want you above me._ ”

Stan’s large hand undoes the first jacket button as the lyrics start, hips swaying with the music as a devious grin settles upon his rugged face. The other pops off quickly as the woman sings, jacket sliding off Stan’s shoulders behind him, pooling on the floor.

“ _I search myself, I want you to find me. I forget myself, I want you to remind me.”_

Stan loosens the tie with one hand, the other sliding down his chest. Mouth parted, a tongue juts out, licking over hungry lips. Both hands slide over Stan’s body, rubbing circles over his nipples, gliding down his stomach. When Stan winks, Ford loses it. Twelve fingers grip the armrests, watching with growing interest as the hand slides lower and lower, deliciously enticing. 

“ _I don't want anybody else. When I think about you, I touch myself._ ”

Strong hands glide sultrily over his enticing body, down his sides, cupping his own ass, making Ford jealous. A devious hand clutches his own crotch, palming himself with the music while those small hips rub against himself in time. Stan intentionally moans, gaze piercing through his lone audience, eyes hot with passion. Ford gulps, lower half instantly waking.

“ _Oh, I don't want anybody else. Oh no, oh no, oh no._ ”

Stan’s naughty hands wander to his trouser pockets. Suddenly he grabs the fabric and pulls fast, ripping them off. Surprised, Ford’s mouth gapes as Stan chucks the tearaway pants aside.

“ _You're the one who makes me come runnin'. You're the sun who makes me shine._ ”

Pants gone, Stan reveals skintight, sheer white briefs with a red lipstick-kiss pattern. Tingles like raindrops fall all over Ford. He blatantly stares, mouth watering. They leave _very_ little to the imagination.

As Stan saunters forward, Ford sits back quickly. His brother fleetingly gives him a questioning look before reobtaining the persona.

 “ _When you're around, I'm always laughin'. I want to make you mine._ ”

Recovering quickly, Stan slips off the tie. He swings it between his legs, grabbing the skinny end behind his ass. His hips start to grind against the tie, barely concealed bulge rubbing against the silky material. Ford’s instantly jealous.

All eyes on his lover, Stan moans for him, riding the tie. Ford’s eyes bulge as hips lift instinctively, grip on the armrests tightening painfully.

Maybe oysters work after all.

“ _I close my eyes and see you before me. Think I would die if you were to ignore me._ ”

Stan throws the tie haphazardly across the room, taking a purposeful step forward. Now only a few feet away, Ford can’t peel away curious eyes. His mouth is parted, fingers white from gripping so hard. Seeing Ford so aroused makes Stan grin, becoming more confident. The tease rips the dress shirt off, buttons flying everywhere. One hits Ford square in the forehead. He barely finds the will to blink let alone care. Not when Stan’s sensual body has him aching to be fucked.

Stan lets the ruined shirt slip off his back, revealing wild, silver hair. He grabs the shirt from behind, twirling it above his head before lassoing it to Ford. In a panic, Ford grabs the shirt, holding on for dear life.

“ _A fool could see just how much I adore you. I'd get down on my knees, I'd do anything for you._ ”

As the woman sings, Stan lowers himself right between Ford’s spread knees. Wiggling his eyebrows in promise, Stan leans forward. The genius chucks the ruined shirt haphazardly with a gulp, rose-colored sight never leaving Stan.

When Stan touches his knees, Ford’s hips stutter. Stan chuckles lightly; apparently loving the reaction. He rubs small circles over his kneecaps with kneading thumbs.

“You like this, eh?”

“ _I don't want anybody else. When I think about you, I touch myself._ ”

Large hands run up Ford’s quivering thighs, making him moan with need, shooting beautiful sparks of arousal through his entire body. Ford doesn’t need to say a word. From Stan’s expression, he already knows the answer.

A hungry gaze settles on Ford’s pants, eyes becoming infinitely dark. He grins at Ford’s obvious erection, hand creeping slowly toward the bulge. Ford sucks in a breath, impatiently waiting for the strong hand to give him just what he desperately desires.

“ _Oh, I don't want anybody else. Oh no, oh no, oh no._ ”

A teasing hand clutches his clothed erection, palming slightly. But it’s much too slow. Groaning, Ford grits his teeth, hips pushing into the needed stimuli. Getting the picture, Stan starts to rub harder. All elements hit Ford at once. His mouth waters, skin on fire. Electricity shocks through his nerves as Stan's tongue slides over his mouth with desire, Ford’s bulge grinding into his lovely, willing hand. Embarrassingly, Ford almost comes right then. Teeth grit as he stops himself, steadying his erection. _Down, boy._

Before he can get much relief, Stan is frustratingly standing back up. Craving more, Ford’s about to protest when those large hands go behind Stan’s own head. Small hips rhythmically gyrate toward Ford, keeping time as the song plays, making his cock twitch.

All is forgiven.

Panting, he watches Stan's semi-hard, enticing length through those tight, silky underwear.

“Uhhn,” Ford moans without realizing, hands itching to touch.

Letting out a shaky breath, Stan steps closer, hairy legs against Ford’s knees. His hips keep thrusting, driving Ford wild. He wants to touch Stan _so badly_ but isn’t sure he's allowed. Thank god Stan sees his hesitation.

"Touch me, sweetcheeks,” he purrs low, voice pure honey. “I’m all yours."

Gulping, Ford's Adam's apple bobs. Now _there_ was an order he could get used to.

A six-fingered reaches out, sliding over the silky material. The warm hardness hiding behind twitches at his touch, giving Ford a lustful sense of pride. His twin moans, hand moving to cover Ford’s. He presses Ford’s hand closer with his own, giving himself more wonderful friction against the wanting palm.

Frustratingly hard, Ford grits his teeth. His own untouched cock pulses, straining in tight pants.

With a shaky sigh, Stan’s fingers press between Ford’s own, sliding between them delicately. The curious man glances up to see Stan smile almost shyly down at him. He looks beyond pleased that Ford likes what they’re doing. It’s not until then that Ford really contemplates what Stan has done. It must have been difficult to make such a possible mockery of himself. That was why Stan had been acting so nervously distant since dinner. Giving someone a strip tease was something Ford could surely never see himself doing. It’d be awkward for both of them if he even tried. Honestly, Ford feels very proud of him for taking a chance. He could have made a complete fool of himself if Ford hadn't enjoyed it so much, and he has to admit he’s beyond honored.

Knowing this was all for him gives Ford a blush deep in his heart. Not knowing how else to repay his curious lover, Ford squeezes his fingers around Stan’s own, holding them tight, strongly rubbing his cock together. Doing so makes Stan’s hips falter; beautiful baby blues flickering with lust.

Not able to hold back a smile, Ford lets his hand run over the smooth material, making Stan friskier by the second. The silk feels wonderful against Ford’s palm. But even better is his panting lover before him, looking completely lost.

Eventually Stan can’t take it anymore.

“Alright, show’s over. Time for the real fun,” Stan pants huskily, pulling down the tight silk briefs in one go. Eyebrows raised, Ford watches the erection spring, bobbing up and down before his face.

Gulping at the closeness, Ford looks at the hard cock so close. A wet tongue slides over hungry lips, wanting to taste.

“Do you… Would you like me to…?” asks Ford, hand reaching for Stan’s cock.

He’s surprised when Stan grabs his hand, shaking his head.

“No. I need you inside me. _Now_.”

The urgency creates chills. Ford’s mind goes hazily warm at the words, visions of what’s to come clouding already murky thoughts.

“Oh. Um. Okay,” is all he dumbly manages to say, not caring how idiotic he sounds.

Ford at least has enough sense to lift his hips so Stan can strip him naked. Unlike himself, Stan has no problem shucking off clothing. It’s a good thing because all Ford wants is Stan naked against him.

He doesn’t have to wait long. His lover straddles the fairly hairy legs, erections instantly lining up as Stan sits in his lap.

The ready man procures a bottle of lube from the dinosaur head beside them. Ford hadn’t noticed it before.

“Did you know we were going to do this?”

“No, but I hoped we would,” admits Stan while popping open the bottle, getting ready to squirt some onto his finger.

Like a boy scout, Stan really had been prepared.

Knowing he should do at least _some_ of the work that evening, Ford holds out his hand. His brother eyes the outstretched digits in wonder before curiously looking into his eyes.

“May I?” asks Ford.

With a small nod, Stan hands him the tiny bottle, shocked smile alighting his entire face. Ford squirts some onto two fingers before pulling Stan close, shuddering chests breathing as one. Stan settles closer as Ford’s arms wrap around his body. One hand kneads Stan’s ass cheek while the other slides over his tight hole, teasing him. His brother pants in his ears, encouraging every motion.

“Please, Sixer. I want you in me.”

When a digit presses in, Stan sucks in a sharp breath.

“Does- does that hurt?” a nervous Ford asks, prepared to stop.

“Only a little,” admits Stan breathily. “But it feels so fuckin’ good. I’ve wanted this all afternoon.”

Not wanting to hurt his twin, Ford moves a hand to Stan’s jaw, gently pulling their mouths together. As they kiss Ford pushes in further, resistance lessening as lips gently slide together. The muscles relax slowly as Stan sighs into his mouth, Ford’s knuckle bottoming out. He wiggles the digit, making Stan gasp. When he adds a second finger his other hand glides over Stan’s back in small circles, attempting to calm him further. His ministrations work because Stan takes the intrusion like a pro.

When Stan makes a low, needy noise, Ford knows he’s ready. His fingers slide out, slicked hand cupping Stan’s ass cheek. When their eyes lock they needn’t say a word. Stan already knows what he’s thinking.

Ford holds his own generously-lubed cock while Stan lines the tip up to his slicked hole, sinking down with clenched teeth. Both men moan in unison as the head presses in.

“Fuck,” Stan breathes, eyes wide. Fingers dig into Ford’s shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d be so tight.”

Neither did Ford. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before.  

Stan tries to meet him halfway but something must go wrong because he makes a pained hiss partway down. Ford desperately searches his eyes for a clue.

“Stan?”

"I’m okay. J- just my back actin’ up. You… You'll hafta do most of the work. I'm not as agile as I used ta be."

Ford isn’t aware of a time when Stan _was_ agile. But he doesn't mind. There's still a lot of vigor left in him and he doesn't like staying still while having sex anyway. The movement makes it _so_ much better. Besides, Stan had been so courteous and thoughtful to him today. The least he could do was give his wonderful lover _exactly_ what he needs.  

So, Ford braces his feet against the soft rug, pushing upward against Stan’s tight ring of muscle. He's met with some resistance but Stan lets him in after a moment. The muscles are still deliciously tight around him but relaxed enough that he can slide inside.

“Mmm,” Stan moans, eyes slipping softly closed. “Finally.”

Nothing in the world could pry Ford’s eyes from Stan’s face- teeth biting a plump lower lip, eyes closed in concentration as Ford’s cock sinks into his wanting ass.

When those beautiful baby blues open, Ford can’t help but see stars. Stan’s eyes could capture the sun. Fleetingly, Ford wonders if Stan thought the same about his.

Hands holding Stan’s ass in place, Ford starts to thrust, slow and steady. He watches his lover breath, happy to be filled.

After a long moment of leisurely, deep strokes, Stan decides to speak.

“Sorry I can’t do more,” a sorrowful Stan sighs.

Faltering his hips momentarily, Ford blinks, unsure what to say.

“Believe me, Stan, I’m happy to help. You’ve done so much for me today. Don’t worry. I owe you this much.”

Shyly smiling, Stan laps up the urgent consideration. He pulls himself closer to Ford, warm erection pushing against his abdomen, noses almost touching.

Being so close in so many ways makes Ford’s heart stutter, especially while watching the arousal dance across Stan’s expression. The position was somehow much more intimate than they were used to, though Ford knew that wasn’t physically possible. Like this they could gaze into each other's eyes without hindrance. Doing so still felt a bit humiliating, but Ford swallows the trepidation. His twin had done this all for him. Stan deserved intense, unwavering attention.

Pushing away the never-ending anxiety, Ford stares into Stan's soul as his hips thrust upwards, deep and gratifying. For some reason Stan’s gaze is just as uncertain. The genius frowns, making Stan narrow his eyes in question.

Not wanting to share unwanted insecurities, Ford leans forward, pressing soft lips to Stan's dry own. They become wet in no time as Ford kisses him over and over, just soft touches of sensitive lips as his cock slowly slides in and out. Ford wishes they could make love all evening; drawing it out and making it last. Some uplifting song plays in the background as both revel in the feeling of being one. Ford doesn’t recognize it either. But he doesn't care. All that matters is Stan. He’s all that ever truly did.  

When their mouths break apart, Stan becomes instantly irritated. Not wanting to disappoint, Ford fixes his lacking actions quickly.

A searching mouth moves down the stubbled jawline, pressing tiny kisses until reaching the wanted destination. Teeth curiously nibble on Stan's large earlobe- a slight pain to counteract the gentle movements inside him. Stan inhales sharply, not expecting such an act from his usually reserved brother. It makes Ford smile against him. He figured Stan would appreciate a little playful biting.

Fingers grasp the short silver hair, tugging a bit; experimenting. Appreciating the pull, Stan moans, head bending to give him more room to play with. Doing so exposes his neck, beckoning Ford. He presses a soft kiss to the neck while fingernails scratch Stan’s scalp; an alluring cacophony of sensation. Stan rewards him with a low, infinitely pleased moan.

"Holy shit; that feels really good," he admits breathily, hands bracing themselves around Ford's shoulders.

Causing pain wasn't actually one of Ford’s kinks, but Stan seems to love the little actions, so he keeps gripping the soft hair, helping Stan see tiny stars of bliss.

Leaning closer, a wet tongue slides over Stan's neck, causing goosebumps. Feeling confident, Ford starts sucking at the surprisingly soft skin as he thrusts, bringing blood to the surface. His lover gasps, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Ford's never given a hickey before. He understands the fascination now.

When he pulls away there's a possessive red mark on his neck, claiming Stan as his own. Seeing the proof of their actions gives Ford a devilish thrill of satisfaction.

While smiling at his work, Ford feels Stan's lips press wetly against his own neck. He's expecting a gentle kiss but Ford guesses wrong. His lover starts sucking as well, making Ford gasp at the slight pain. His hips jut upward, bottoming out inside Stan, making his brother’s ass tense around him.

_Oh, god._

Ford's eyelids flicker closed. He sucks in a sharp breath, reveling in Stan marking his body, claiming him as his. There's an ounce of pain but Ford doesn’t care. He was beginning to see why Stan liked it. As long as they didn't actually hurt one another Ford didn't see the harm in heightening their pleasure. Today was about trying new things with your partner; expressing love in ways you haven't before. It wasn't conventional but neither were they. And if both liked the little spikes of pleasure then so be it. Their intentions were good, and though the road to hell was paved with them, Ford figured they were probably both going there anyway. At least it was a fun path to take together.

The fingernails digging into Ford’s shoulder suddenly give him an idea. Nails scratch curiously over bumps and imperfections across Stan's back. It gives Ford a feeling of satisfaction he can’t describe, especially as Stan inhales a sharp, shaky breath, ass clenching around his thrusting cock.

Caught up in the moment, Ford hadn’t realized he’d put his own arousal aside. He just wanted to make Stan satisfied. While wanting to take Stan’s aching back and needs into consideration Ford ignored his own wants. Being with Stan was often like this anymore. He was a wonderful distraction.

Hands resume their place on Stan’s small ass, gripping tightly, leaking cock thrusting faster.  

"Mmm, yeah, that’s it,” Stan encourages into his ear, sending shivers through Ford’s whole body. “Fuck me harder.”

Ford grits his teeth, pace quickening. The suave bastard knew dirty talk revved his motor.

"Uhngh," Ford chokes, gripping Stan's small ass tighter, arousal no longer able to be ignored.

"Stanford, I…" Stan whispers huskily into his ear.

All senses heighten, waiting for him to continue. But Stan doesn't finish his sentence.

Having other urgent priorities, Ford keeps thrusting. His hips pump faster, balls slapping noisily against Stan’s pert ass. His lover mewls, face settling against his neck. Quick puffs of hot hair hit the small patch of skin, instantly cooling, making Ford shiver. He revels in the sensation against his sensitive neck, eyes closing in concentration. Stan’s ass felt so great around his cock. But he had to hold back. He couldn’t come before Stan. This wasn’t about his pleasure, it was about Stan.

“Are… are you close?” Ford asks desperately, cock pistoning in and out. He’s close. So close he can practically taste the sweet release.

“A-almost,” admits Stan, voice higher than usual.

Fingernails dig into Stan’s cheeks as Ford groans. His cock ached. Ford needed it so badly it hurt.

“P-please, Stanley. I… I need you to come. I can’t- I can’t hold on much longer.”

At his words, Stan’s muscles clench around his cock. He’s close too. Ford can feel it.

“Please, Stan, I- I’m begging you. You don’t- you don’t know what you do to me.” 

“O-Oh, god, Stanford,” Stan says, voice completely gone at his words.

Ford bites down so hard his teeth hurt. _Just a little more_. He could do this. He had to, for Stan.

“Oh, fuck. Ford, I-I’m coming,” Stan mewls low, ass pulsating around Ford’s desperate cock. Semen shoots onto his tightened stomach as Stan comes around him, sandwiched cock sliding between them with Ford’s own desperate thrusts.

Relieved beyond comprehension, Ford lets out a loud yell, face buried in Stan’s shoulder. Leg muscles scream as he fucks his brother, balls bottoming out as he comes. Semen shoots into Stan’s pulsating ass in hot spurts, Ford orgasming so hard he sees white. Eyelids clench painfully as ecstasy assaults him. Rolling pulses bombard his body, shaking him to his core as he holds Stan for dear life.

“Stan- Stanley,” he mutters almost nonsensically. Ford’s so far gone he doesn’t realize he’s talking. “O-oh my god, you’re amazing.”

Ford doesn’t hear Stan’s sharp inhale at the truthful words because everything’s on fire. Ford’s whole body stiffens in pain as he tries to keep this euphoric feeling forever. But nothing ever can. His cock eventually weakens in Stan’s wet ass as he rides them both through their orgasms.

Cock becoming much too sensitive, Ford has to stop, mind going blissfully silent for long, wonderful moments.

When the high subsides, Ford crashes quickly. His ass hits the rough seat, aching body bouncing slightly. After a moment Stan settles over him, effectively sitting on his lap.

Breaths come in short gasps, minds starting to reboot. Every muscle in Ford’s body screams. All the pain was worth it, though. He held out for Stan and Ford felt quite proud of himself for that. He didn’t think he would make it. Sex with Stan was always a wild ride. It was an experience he couldn’t live without now that he’s had a taste. Gladly, Stan wasn’t about to deny him his delicacies anytime soon.

“Christ, that was good,” Stan breathes. “I can’t believe we came twice in one day.”

Neither could Ford. It had been a very eventful day. Though his body now hated him. And his head had birds circling above it he was so satisfied. Ford just hoped Stan was as well.   

“It’s a good thing, too, because I might not be able to do that again for a week.”

Stan chuckles against his neck. It was music to his ears.

“Yeah, me neither. But it was worth it.”

Ford hums in agreement. He could say that again.

For a long time Ford just sits there, hands lazily holding Stan’s body to his own. Their sweat starts to cool but the shack’s comfortable enough it hardly bothers them.

“Hey, Ford?”

“Hm?” he says distantly, mind catching up to him. “Yes?”

“Did you… Did you like all this?"

Surprisingly, his brother’s tone wavers, not nearly as confident as most would expect. Underneath it all Ford knew Stan was just as insecure as he was. If Stan looked at Ford’s flaccid cock still lodged inside himself, come dripping from his ass onto his favorite chair, he would see just how much Ford had liked it. And there would likely be a temporary stain to prove it. Apparently Stan wanted to hear it for himself, though. Being one who needed his ego stroked as well, Ford indulges him.

"If my throbbing erection had anything to say about it then, yes, I liked it very much."

Stan grins.

“Really?”

“Mhm hm. I’m quite impressed. You obviously put a lot of thought into that choreography.”

Stan chuckles shyly, gorgeous eyes twinkling from praise.

"Heh. Well, it's not like I haven't done it for someone before." 

Eyebrows furrow as Ford frowns deep, jealousy bubbling stomach acid onto his heart. His lover smiles knowingly, poking his ribs.

"Heh. Are you jealous?" Stan asks, wiggling his eyebrows and resembling his childhood self.

"No," Ford claims, voice much too shaky. _God dammit._ He was giving himself away.

“Yeah, you are,” Stan grins. “You’re jealous. Just admit it.”

“Shut up,” Ford huffs, annoyed at how right Stan really was. Frustrated, Ford knows he has to say something fast, otherwise Stan will hound him relentlessly about this. “You, um, you did look very arousing, Stanley. I still can’t believe you did that for me... Thank you.”

"Good. I… I hoped you’d like it. When you said you'd rather get a strip tease than give one it got my mind goin'."

Thinking back at Stan’s reaction on New Year’s, Ford isn’t all that surprised anymore. He should have known a strip tease had been in the works all along.

"Well," Ford says, hand cupping and stroking Stan’s cheek while staring into those surprised cerulean eyes; "I believe it was a good plan."

Stan gulps before licking his lips, gaze faltering.

“Uh, a- agreed."       

For a moment Stan simply sits there as Ford cups his jaw, composing himself. Then he clears his throat, ready to speak again.

“Well, I’m all holiday'd out for a while,” Stan admits after a while, regaining his composure. “How ‘bout you?”

“Oh, most definitely. I’m exhausted.”

It had been a wild couple months. Yet he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The genius basks in the pleasant silence, gazing into Stan’s happy eyes, wondering back over the good times they had shared. If someone told him years ago the hell they’d go through to get back in each other’s arms he’d have found them certifiable.

Feeling Stan all around him– hot, sweaty skin against his own, holding him in a fond embrace– Ford would have it no other way. Theirs was a forbidden love, sure, but the apple tasted so sweet.

Remembering the story of Saint Valentine, marrying couples who society shunned, Ford can’t help but relate. Here he was in a non-platonic relationship with his own twin. Was he supposed to have romantic or sexual feelings for his brother? No. At least not by societal standards. But Stan was always a rebel and Ford a freak. One told society to fuck itself while the other was constantly scorned for an uncontrollable abnormality. They were misfits. Always had been, always would be. They didn't belong. Everyone always said they’d only ever have each other. In the end, they were right. There was no one Ford would rather be with. Since birth Stan understood him unlike anyone else. It didn't matter that they were brothers. It didn't matter that they were twins. It didn't matter they were both male. There was one place they always did fit in place, without question: they belonged together.

Sighing, Ford lets himself breathe. He always felt better in Stan’s protective embrace. Especially after sex when shame menacingly creeping into Ford’s forefront. Lows didn’t seem so bad when you shared them with someone special. 

He’s about to tell his lover how much better he makes him feel when Stan speaks, shooting a bullet straight into his heart.

"I love you,” Stan breathes into Ford’s ear, deafening them both.

Heartfelt words shatter the silence of the night. For a second Ford stops breathing. Hearing them echo though his skull, Ford’s soul uplifts higher, transcending his body. His heart pounds powerfully, head swimming as he’s body slammed back to the hard mat, concoction of emotions creating a horrendous tornado. What was he supposed to say? No one had ever loved him before.

Ford's heart quickens, pulsing through his entire being before plummeting, banging bass drums in his ears, attempting to rupture his rib cage. No. Stan wouldn’t have said that to him. It was wishful thinking. He was hearing things… right?

"Uh, c-come again?" Ford says, suddenly unsure of everything.   

Apparently too embarrassed to face him, Stan nestles back against the safety of Ford’s neck. He breathes in Ford’s scent, making him accidentally tense. Misreading the reaction, Stan becomes stone against his palms.

"I said I love ya. What, can't a guy tell his brother he loves him?"

But the shaky voice gives him away. Ford knows it’s a copout and he’s not buying what the old conman’s selling.

"We've said that before, Stanley, but not..."

Uncertain how to finish that sentence, Ford pauses, peering down at their sweaty, naked bodies intertwined on the chair. They had just finished having sex for the second time that day. It was safe to say they were _well_ beyond the bond of DNA by now.

Gulping hard, Ford looks up to see only Stan's shoulder. He’ll take what he can get.

"Listen, Stan, we're not just siblings anymore. Do you..." Ford grits his teeth, afraid but flutteringly hopeful. "Do you mean it in the, uh, th- the other way?"

Ford tries so hard to keep his cool yet his voice won’t stop quivering. Stan sighs against him, assuming his confession is unrequited. He attempts to break them apart, shattering their ties just to walk off and leave Ford a stuttering mess. Thinking of Stan leaving gives Ford a slimy, cold panic in his lungs. Arms grab desperately around Stan’s large body, not allowing him to leave. Stan looks at the limbs preventing his departure, voice quiet and defeated.

"What's it matter what way I mean it? You can't even say what other kind of love there is, Stanford, so you obviously don't feel the same. It doesn’t matter."

Stan looks away, realizing he's given himself away and pretending to be okay with that. Ford sucks in a breath that does no good. His lover was wrong. It was the _only_ thing that mattered.

"Listen, Stan-"

"No, I get it, Ford. It's too soon. We haven't even been together two months yet. Forget I said it. Let's just- let’s just watch TV and forget I said anything, okay?"

The awestruck man pauses, mouth open, watching Stan draw into himself. Ford was supposed to be the self-conscious one, not him. Stan was the strong one who strutted around naked and unashamed, saying whatever he thought and felt without care.

There was that slithering feeling again. He was making Stan feel ashamed to express how he truly felt. Ford hated himself for it. They had made such wonderful progress since Christmas. He couldn't keep screwing everything up. They had come so far with so little. He had to be strong. He had to be like Stan.

"What if I don't think it's too soon?" admits Ford, voice low and uncertain.

Knowing Stan had the courage to say how he truly felt gives Ford the kick he desperately needs.

Stan blinks, finally looking at him, unsure yet hopeful. Blue eyes sparkle back, kicking Ford’s heart into a pounding overdrive.

"Ya don't?"

A smile slowly spreads over Ford's face that he can’t control, heart feeling fully open and exposed for the first time in years.

The feeling didn’t scare him this time.

"I… I think I love you too, Stanley."

Stan smiles unabashed before deflating a bit. Ford hates the instant change in expression. He wants that beautiful smile back.

"Wait. Whaddaya mean 'think'?"

For a moment Ford is about to pour out all those worries and internal grief over the subject. But Stan’s expression of a barely-glued vase makes him consider taking a different angle.

"Well, you are still rather frustrating," Ford says, unable to hold back a small, teasing smile.

Stan full-on grins, making Ford’s soul soar above the tall Oregon trees.

"Hey, I'm not the only pain in the ass, Poindexter," he says jokingly, poking Ford's bare chest.

Ford chuckles. Sadly, he has to agree. He finds himself rather frustrating sometimes as well. Especially when caught in awkward social situations and not acquiring the desired outcome. Which happened much more often than he realized.

"Heh. Fine. I..." Ford scratches his nape, feeling uncomfortable yet hopeful since he wasn't the first to say it. "I love you too, Stanley. As a lover, not just as a brother.”  

Stan takes a steadying breath, leaning into Ford's mouth. Their upturned lips press together, warm and wet, tender and sweet. Ford lets himself fall into the passionate kiss. Driving music in the background invigorates his heart as their saliva mixes together, becoming one again.

"You're not just sayin' that to get in my pants, are ya?" Stan teases in a whisper when he draws back a bit, noses still touching.

Ford snorts at the preposterous fake accusation, making Stan smile softly.

"No, I'm pretty sure you'd let me in your pants anyway.”

Saying the sentence out loud gets cogs grinding in Ford’s mind.

“Though that _does_ sound like something _you_ would do- confess your love just to have your way with me…"

Stan puts up defensive hands though Ford honestly doesn’t believe his own words anyway. His brother was conning, sure. But Ford never for a second believed Stan was using him for his body. It never felt that way. They didn’t have sex, they made love. Even Ford could tell the difference.

"Hey, I wouldn't’ve said it if I didn't mean it,” Stan insists, serious face etched stone.

Something akin to a spring tulip blossoms in his chest while watching Stan be completely truthful. It was still fairly rare to see him drop the act and sew his heart upon his sleeve. Knowing without a doubt his lover wasn’t using him, Ford’s voice comes out soft as cashmere, sounding as peaceful as he felt within.

"I know."

He leans in slowly, kissing Stan and pulling him close, pudgy stomach nestling against Ford's flat abdomen. A sigh falls from his lips, whole body floating. It had been such a glorious day. Ford was sad it had to end. But one look at Stan curled around him, settled happily in his lap while the icicles dripped outside showed Ford all he needed. Spring was coming. Their uncertain, unpredictable winter was over, and Ford wasn’t referring to the weather.

Nuzzling into Stan’s neck, held protectively in his loving embrace, Ford’s mind wanders aimlessly, more content than he can ever remember. He recalls how he had somehow actually felt nervous that morning, wondering if one false move would screw everything up. It all sounded so ridiculous now. Ford knew they were well past that stage now. This was a new chapter for them.

Standing in the shower, Stan had opened his mouth before denying himself the chance to speak. Now Ford knows what he had meant to say. Knowing that someone he loved also loved him back was the best feeling in the world. Ford would go through all the wretched multiverses for Stan; endure all the pain and betrayal and heartbreak again just to make him smile. And what a lovely smile it was.

He protectively pulls Stan somehow closer, breathing in the masculinity, wondering if that’s exactly what had happened; if it was the world’s way of bringing them together: two broken souls finding their match after severing all ties, just to realize they belonged together all along. Though Ford was a scientific man he did believe in fate. Love wasn’t something that was given, it was earned. And by god, they had earned it.

Basking in the wonderful emotions bubbling around them, Ford hugs him tight, face nestling closer against Stan’s neck, taking in a strong whiff of his natural, woody scent. Air expels from his nostrils as he creates a happy hum, holding Stan tight. This is where he belongs. Ford was far beyond sure of that now.

Gentle lips press against his neck, tickling Ford’s skin with silent affection. Apparently Stan was certain too. Pride overtakes him. Taking such a risk, putting his emotions out for the world to see must have been mortifying for Stan. It was dangerous to upset the waters, possibly throwing off their relationship for good. But Stan always did have a way of making things work in his favor. And Ford has to admit Valentine's Day was very appropriate for the heartfelt confession. It brought up the perfect excuse to show how they truly felt about each other, in words and in actions. And, since neither were all that good at prose, Ford was eternally grateful that their actions spoke even stronger than one single noun ever could.

Besides, love wasn't something that could be summed up in one word. It couldn't be summed up in _any_ amount of words. It could only be felt with your soul. And they had all the days left in their lives to express it.

**Author's Note:**

> Science Fact Sex Corner Number 1: That UTI thing is actually something I've heard, so be careful ladies, gents, and non-binary friends. Have fun but be cautious. No one likes UTI’s. Just make sure you urinate afterwards.  
> Science Fact Sex Corner Number 2: I looked into the oyster thing and what I found seems to be sound. Sorry to burst your bubble. So, just remember it’s not what you eat it’s how you eat it.  
> Also, the song is "I Touch Myself" by Divinyls. Watch Josh Gad perform it on Lip Sync Battle and I assure that you'll understand why I chose this song instead of the one I originally planned.


End file.
